


Stag, Dog and Wolf

by Blasta6000



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-01-16 14:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21272846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blasta6000/pseuds/Blasta6000
Summary: What if James Potter killed the Dark Lord on Halloween?





	1. The Cat of Affairs (Albus Dumbledore I)

On the final night of the First Wizarding War, two men and one woman sat around a roaring brazier in the heights of Hogwarts Castle. The eldest of the two men and indeed the eldest member of the company in general was a practically ancient man, as thin as a stick but with an impression of great strength regardless. The most striking aspect of his features was a long silver beard tucked firmly into his belt, but one’s eyes might also have been drawn to his crooked and misshapen nose or gentle blue eyes. This man was relaxed in a large maroon stuffed armchair, one hand absently stroking an impressive golden and red bird while he spoke with the other members of his company. His voice was gentle.  
  
“You shall have to tell the Minister, Alastor that I cannot tell him where the Potters are. It is beyond my abilities, or indeed my rights to do so. I can, if he wishes put in a good word for him with the actual secret-keeper but I regret to say that I doubt the use of such an action.”  
  
The other man, Alastor smirked or at least tried to. Due to the number of scars he bore including one that had taken out a third of his nose, it resembled more of a grimace. Impressively this seemed to cause him little issue, though the injury that had taken out one of his legs was another matter. Of course, anyone seeing the man would not have noticed this any of this at first, because the strange electric eye that occupied one side of his face was a far more interesting feature.  
  
“Old Bagnold won’t be pleased, Albus” barked Alastor; “She’s been hounding me to get the Potters under auror protection ever since You-Know-Who started showing this ‘strange interest’ in them.”  
  
“Then she’s a fool” said the woman sitting upright in the third chair; “If the aurors discover where James and Lily are hiding, then You-Know-Who will in short order. If she thinks that the Ministry hasn’t been infiltrated-”  
  
“I know that” replied the scarred man, “But her faith in Barty is more than mine. Even with the productive methods brought in by him, at least a third of the Wizengamot is in his pockets or quietly supporting him or too weak-willed to do anything, ever! And all the other departments are the same!”  
  
“Raging about it won’t help the situation, Alastor” replied the woman; “Only action will ensure his defeat and his followers’ expulsion.”  
  
Alastor grunted and responded, “I would say my capture of Dolohov counts as ‘action’.”  
  
The woman who had questioned him continued to look stern, though her eyes showed amusement. She was a rather tall and prim lady in appearance, with her dark and tied-up hair only confirming that impression. Even her green crocked hat and green tartan robes did not diminish the suggestion that crossing this woman was a very bad idea.  
  
“Do you have any further ideas, Albus?” she asked, turning her attention to the bearded man with the bird; “Even with the recent damage to You-Know-Who’s operations – yes, thank you Alastor – he still outnumbers the Ministry and I assume the Order as well, though you and I have agreed not to discuss the membership. We cannot continue for long if the recent losses continue.”  
  
Albus smiled, eyes twinkling as ever. “As it happens Minerva, I have a few. I have been in contact with the Potters and we are currently discussing how to proceed in that matter – as I have previously stated, I sadly cannot tell you why they are so important; only that they are. I have, with Alastor’s aid advised Barty on several matters and Millicent on several more in person. Between them, I hope to separate Voldemort from many of his supporters: first those giants who have not been slain by the Ministry’s counterattack; then the werewolves who in many cases I suspect can be convinced to cease their actions by improving certain laws and repealing others – which naturally should have been done prior, though we mustn’t dwell on the past – and then finally the Death Eaters themselves. Many will have to go to Azkaban I am afraid, though I believe a large amount of them will defect once Voldemort’s support is known to be slipping. Thankfully the Inferi have been dealt with for the time being, though we will have to remain vigilant, naturally.”  
  
“In the meantime, I suppose you have no issues with the aurors doing what they should?” Alastor questioned.  
  
“Not at all” the elder man replied, “While I disagree with Barty’s tactics, he is indeed right that sometimes lethal force is required. It merely is not my right to administer it, but then again I am not a member of the government.”  
  
“Not from lack of ability” Minerva said loyally; “The Wizengamot and the public as a whole would be happier with you in that position. I doubt even Bagnold would even protest.”  
  
“And that is precisely why I must remain out of power, Minerva” Albus replied, “For once I was in those high halls, who would deign to remove me?”  
  
Any further conversation was interrupted by the sudden whistling of a strange silver instrument, sat with many more of its kind on several desks and in several cabinets near the front of the room, away from where the men and woman were seated. With a loud and faintly vulgar noise, the ‘lid’ of the object flew open to release an unsettling green gas and the faint smell of liquorice. Judging by the flash of shock on Albus’ face, this was not an expected thing.

* * *

It took Albus ten minutes to reach the edge of the grounds, by which point the entire affair at the village of Godric’s Hollow was over. Hagrid, the bearded giant of a groundskeeper had endeavoured to join him, while Alastor and Minerva had left separately to assess the situation in the Ministry. The groundskeeper stumbled slightly once Albus had finished apparating, but the elder man was already purposely striding towards the cobblestone cottage that now stood before them. He was relieved to see that the building appeared almost entirely undamaged, although the front door had been blasted off its hinges and now lay smoking in a bed of roses. He was further relieved to realise that his worst expectations of the attack had apparently been unfounded, for the couple and child he had feared for were most definitely not deceased. Indeed, they stood before him arguing loudly with another man, while a very smug cat sat licking itself at their feet.  
  
“Sirius, I want to break Peter’s neck just as much as you, but we can’t go after him straight away!” barked the first man, a tall and thin figure with messy black hair and a large scar on his cheek that his wife was busy fussing over. In his arms was sat a baby with the same hair, who looked rather put out at all the arguing (or possibly due to not being the centre of attention). He was sat on a wooden lawn chair, that had apparently been dragged over from a set of them a few metres away.  
  
“If we don’t go after Peter now, he’ll have escaped!” whined Sirius, a larger fellow with a longer mop of dark hair and a short aristocratic beard; “How then will we find one _rat_ in all of Britain!” He laughed, a harsh bark with the faintest twinge of madness around it. “Assuming he hasn’t fled to the continent already!”  
  
“I don’t think even he’s desperate enough to flee to _France_” muttered the first man.  
  
“James!” corrected the woman, “Be polite…” She was a gorgeous vixen in appearance, with thick red hair and a set of bright green eyes shared by the baby. “…and stop fussing! This scar’s proving a right pickle already without you messing around. What did You-Know-Who even get you with?”  
  
“I don’t know!” muttered her husband; “I was too busy charging him to ask what spell it was.”  
  
Albus held back a cough of surprise when he noticed the bloodied figure in a dark green robe lying face down in another flowerbed. He settled for clearing his throat; a sound that caused all three of the people before him to jerk to attention with their wands drawn. They were quick to relax when the recognised him however, with the woman revealing her first smile of the day.  
  
“Professor” they chorused.  
  
“And Hagrid” grinned Sirius, noticing the groundskeeper coming up behind Albus.  
  
“Lily, James, Sirius” the Headmaster said; “Might I say how greatly relieved I am that you are all alive, along with little Harry. I confess I feared the worst when I received note that Voldemort had entered the property. But apparently, my fears were misplaced.”  
  
James (the first man) looked bashful. “I’m as surprised as you are, Professor. After what happened in mine and Lils previous encounters with him, I was sure we’d both be dead in minutes.” He paused and gestured to the bloodied figure. “But…”  
  
Albus walked over to the corpse and kneeled to inspect it, ignoring the protests from his back. He was most perplexed by the large wounds in the corpse’s stomach, though his confusion did not stop him from pocketing the long white stick still clutched in a pale hand. He straightened up and turned back to the gathering. “By virtue of Sirius’ presence, I assume I am correct in my assumption that he wasn’t the secret keeper?”  
  
All three of them nodded, with Sirius himself spitting onto the ground. “No” he growled; “I told James and Lily to make _Peter_ it, because no one would expect him over me. Of course, now it turns out we should have suspected the little traitor!”  
  
“He’ll get his just deserts” said Lily, with a vindictive frown; “He can go to Azkaban with the rest of his kind – maybe he’ll appreciate their friendship more than ours.”  
  
“How did you do it?” asked Hagrid, with disbelief evident on his face. When everyone looked at him, he clarified; “Kill You-Know-Who?”  
  
“I would appreciate an explanation for that as well, though I must congratulate you for achieving something even I would have struggled to do” said Albus, who with Lily’s nod of permission moved in to cast his own charms on James’ mysterious scar. What he found was unnerving, though he was very much unsure of why.  
  
James in the meantime looked even more bashful and handed Harry off to his wife – just in time for the cat to spring onto his lap and settle down for a nap. “It wasn’t…that is to say…I didn’t…uh.” He mumbled to himself for a moment, before Sirius leaned down and gave him a smack on the back of the head. “Ow! Fine then, I’ll give my best reckoning of what happened! Did you have to do that?”  
  
Sirius smirked.  
  
“You-Know-Who arrived just as Lily and I were preparing to put Harry to bed” James began; “We – obviously – didn’t expect this, so I told Lily to take Harry and run while I tried to hold him off for as long as I could. Unfortunately, I had left my wand in the other room.”  
  
Albus raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t tell that part to Alastor, else he’ll be very upset” he said.  
  
“Yeah, I know” James grumbled; “Anyway, since I didn’t have a wand I decided that charging You-Know-Who was my best chance of holding him off. Since it made sense at the time, I turned into Prongs to do that – which worked, apparently!”  
  
“Prongs?” Albus questioned.  
  
“His Animagus, a stag” Lily answered; “All of them are one, bar Remus naturally; Sirius is a dog and Pettigrew is exactly what one would expect.”  
  
James continued his story: “I could see him trying to mouth something (probably the killing curse) but managed to get to him before he could finish saying it. After that, I think he tripped over ginger here-” He gestured at that sleeping cat. “-and fell over, long enough for me to change back and start pummelling him. I probably didn’t need to bother as it turned out, since the antlers did most of the work.”  
  
Albus and Hagrid stared, before they both began to chuckle loudly. The former rose to his feet and clapped the sitting man on the shoulder. “I can assure you that I did not expect this day to go by in that fashion -” he said, still chuckling; “But I am relieved that it did! Come! I believe we should take you to Saint Mungo’s to get that scar checked out and make sure the rest of you are okay. Then, we – or I, if you would prefer to rest – can break the news to the waiting public.”

**\----6 Hours Later----**

**YOU-KNOW-WHO SLAIN IN ATTACK ON POTTER HOUSE!**

**JAMES POTTER CREDITED AS VICTOR, CONGRATULATED BY MINISTER!**

**CAT REVERED AS HERO BY WIZARDING WORLD! **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One Chapter at the moment, but more will come.
> 
> Just be sure to ignore the Erumpent in the room...


	2. The Erumpent in the Room (Alice Longbottom I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice worries, Frank eavesdrops and Mad-Eye is drunk.

November 1st, 1981

It took approximately eighteen hours, thirty-four minutes and twenty-two seconds for someone to notice the metaphorical ‘Elephant in the Room’. That someone was Alice Longbottom, a witch of some twenty-one years and a close friend and former schoolmate of James and Lily. Much like the Potters, Alice had been forced to go into hiding with her family due to the possibility that You-Know-Who might be targeting them specifically. Naturally she was relieved to discover the death of the Dark Lord, but to her worry the manner of his death seemed at odds with prior information…

She approached Dumbledore, who was taking a moment to sit down away from the centre of the room where the rest of the Order was busy partying. He was sipping slowly from a goblet, while reading the latest edition of some French Newspaper, ‘Le Cri de la Gargouille’. “Alice” he exclaimed, “I hope nothing is worrying you?”

“Professor.” She tried to smile, but the last months still hung on her like a curtain. “When you sent us into hiding, you told us there was a prophecy” she said, “That one with the power to vanquish You-Know-Who would soon be born.”

Dumbledore frowned and his eyes seemed to lose their customary sparkle. “I did” he confirmed, “As I witnessed, and a Death Eater overheard.”

“Yes, Professor” Alice replied, “But the events of last night – while fantastic, believe me – don’t fit what the prophecy said at all! It referred to either my son or Lily’s, probably Lily’s – but _James_ killed You-Know-Who. Not Neville. Not Harry. _James._ What does that mean?”

Her old professor leaned back in his armchair; brow crinkled in thought. “_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches_” he murmured, “_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._”

Alice shivered at the recital of Trelawney’s words. Not only because they had they caused her and Frank a great deal of worry and fear, but because of how…ominous they sounded. There was no confirmation in them that good would triumph, that You-Know-Who would be slain instead of her son; only that ‘the Chosen One’ would either kill the Dark Lord or be killed by him. And that was not nearly enough to satisfy her.

“James” Dumbledore called, beckoning the man over to them from where he had been standing talking to Sirius. Alice and James had been aurors and reasonably close friends, though she had always been closer to Lily than her husband; even though she wasn’t an auror and had wished to go into a career in potioneering. Neither had been on patrol in the last months, though Alice had still kept her hair cut short in case of attack. The man walked over and flopped into a seat, looking like he needed a good rest. “I am right in assuming you were not born in July?” Dumbledore asked.

James nodded. “27th of March” he replied, then paused; “Why?”

“We’re discussing the prophecy” said Alice, “And how it doesn’t seem to fit with what happened.” She thought for a moment, then asked her own question; “I don’t suppose your cat was born in July?” She was only half hoping for an affirmative answer, considering the unlikelihood that the Dark Lord would mark a cat as his equal.

James thought about it for a second: “Uh…October the 8th unless I’m mistaken. Could be wrong, but he’s seven years old now so the Prophecy wouldn’t refer to him anyway.”

“That would imply one of two things then” Dumbledore ruminated, “The first possibility is that the prophecy is wrong – which could be possible, but I would not count on that if only because of how little is understood about the art to this day. Even compared to regular divination, the power of a ‘true seer’ is difficult to grasp and prone to misinterpretation. That being said it certainly wasn’t faked, I can assure you as I was present and Sybill is not a talented liar. The second possibility is the more worrying one.”

“You believe he’s still alive, somehow” said James. It was not a question.

“How could someone survive that?” Alice spluttered, before Dumbledore could reply; “It’s impossible! Heqet’s law denies any possibility of returning from the dead, as does the work of Pensées-Profondes and Albinus Kozlov. And the Unspeakables and we all know they would be practising that if they had the ability to!”

“Alice” Dumbledore gently interrupted, “While I certainly agree with you that it is impossible to resurrect the dead, that is not what I or James propose; unless I am mistaken, which I would hope isn’t the case as I have already been wrong twice today. A third time would be most worrying indeed.” He chuckled, but then turned serious. “I call into question whether or not Voldemort died at all. There are methods by which one can extend or sustain life beyond that which is natural. The Philosopher’s Stone is one method, as is unicorn blood. Likewise, there is dark magic that allows for the survival of a person without a body; though such methods are little-known, highly difficult and extremely dangerous. The question is, therefore, which one did Voldemort use?”

“You are sure of this?” James asked, looking rather queasy.

“No” Dumbledore replied; “And I do not wish to trouble you in this time of celebration, especially since I doubt Voldemort will manage to return anytime soon. Most methods I am aware of require the assistance of a second party, which – assuming the information my sources tell me is correct – is likely to be difficult for a man who trusts no one. He is much like the majority of dark wizards in having that flaw, which is to our advantage. The situation is also helped by the difficulty he would have in gathering followers even if he did trust them; many of his supporters, such as Lucius Malfoy and Corban Yaxley have already turned themselves over to the Ministry with the claim that they were under the Imperius Curse. I expect more to do so in the days to follow, while others will go into hiding or flee the country. Only the most loyal will stay devoted to him after the humiliation of being defeated by a stag and a cat.”

James clenched his jaw and absently scratched at the new scar on his cheek. “You would advise staying prepared, however.”

“Yes” Dumbledore said, “Do not worry yourself, but at the same time – do not get too comfortable.”

The man being celebrated as the wizarding world’s latest hero sighed; but then he straightened up and gestured to his wife to come over. While he brought Lily up to speed on the conversation, Alice had her own questions for the Professor. She tried to ignore her husband and Sirius eavesdropping from a few metres away, where they were pretending to be engaged in conversation.

“The prophecy spoke of You-Know-Who ‘marking’ his opponent as an equal: I assume he going after little Harry achieved that, in a roundabout fashion.” Second-Meanings and implications like this were why she never studied Divination at Hogwarts, or Care of Magical Creatures for the matter. Both were entirely too wishy-washy in their manner of working; just like Herbology – which she was awful at – they relied on connecting to something; which was difficult to achieve if you preferred being antisocial. Frank was excellent at all three however.

“That would make sense” Dumbledore replied, “Though I would still be wary – Voldemort may not recognise that his attempt on the life of Harry Potter counts as a marking. Nor do I believe he knows all the prophecy.”

“Did the Death Eater miss overhearing half of it?” she asked.

“Indeed” her Professor nodded, “He was prevented from further eavesdropping by an outside intervention. With the benefit of hindsight, I must send Aberfoth another firewhiskey crate as a thank-you. Though he would probably prefer a goat.”

“What?” Alice asked, looking over at the barman sat in another corner with Moody and Hagrid. All three looked rather intoxicated, though the only sign of drunkenness on her boss was the constant whizzing of his magic eye. Hagrid on the other hand was asleep and snoring like the muggle ‘vaccine-cleaner’ Marlene used to own.

“Nothing to worry about” Dumbledore replied, his eyes once again twinkling merrily.

Judging by their re-entry into the conversation, James had finished explaining everything to Lily. The redhead seemed as worried as the rest of them, but also appeared to be already in deep thought about how to forestall or prevent Voldemort’s return.

She began by requesting something of Dumbledore that neither her of James had thought of. “I want to talk to your spy” she said, “To see if he knows anything of what method Voldemort might have used.”

Dumbledore appeared to consider it for a moment. “If he agrees” he replies, “Though I must ask that you keep his identity secret for the time being.”

“Good” Lily said, “If he knows anything, we’ll have an idea of where to look. If he doesn’t, well we’ll just have to break into a few Death Eater houses in search of clues. Dark Magic usually leaves something behind, even if it’s merely the feeling of a cold breeze in the area. For especially dark magic such as this – I imagine we’ll be able to see it from a mile off, once we get close.” She turned to James. “In the meantime, you, Alice, Frank and Alastor need to go after the remaining Death Eaters. While you don’t legally have much power to affect trials and so forth, as ‘the Hero of Wizarding Britain’ you have a great deal of ‘soft’ political power. See if any of them will agree to spill Voldemort’s secrets in return for lighter sentences.”

“I could ‘suggest’ that to my superiors” James murmured, “And call in any favours. Slughorn might be good for that, if you can find where he’s hiding.”

“And you could give an interview to the prophet!” Alice interrupted; her remark being met by a cackle from the peanut gallery. Sirius. “You and I might know that the Prophet is more trash than not, but the wizarding public doesn’t know that. If they see their Hero calling for harsher trials, they’ll rise up to support you!”

“I don’t think I’m quite that admired” muttered James.

His remark was met by stares and an amused eyebrow from the Professor.

“James” barked Sirius from off to one side, “You could tell them that you were the heir of all four founders and Merlin and they’d believe you. Heck, the Prophet would pay hundreds to be the first newspaper to interview you!”

“I thought you were pretending _not_ to be eavesdropping?!” barked back James.

“As I recall, the going rate for a column by myself in the paper is twenty galleons” said Dumbledore, utterly amused by the turn in conversation; “For you, at the moment I would expect ten times that amount. I actually imagine they would seek to turn such an issue into a special edition to celebrate your victory.”

Lily muttered something foul about reporters under her breath. Apparently, she still hadn’t forgiven the prophet for the issue two years prior.

“Before I do that though, Sirius and I need to pay a trip to Remus” James stated; “While I and he spoke last week, he and Sirius haven’t spoken since their argument.”

Sirius looked uncomfortable at the reminder. “I…don’t know if that’s wise, James” he said; “Looking back I realise it was paranoia – paranoia that I should have been directing at the _rat_ – but I don’t know if Remus will accept my apologies. I was way out of line. If Remus was Land’s End, I’d be John o' Groats! I…if I was him-”

James smiled. “Sirius, you’ve been friends since we were eleven. He’ll forgive you, so long as you mean it.” He mimed thinking for a moment. “But you will be paying for his lunch for the next decade.”

**\----An Indeterminable Amount of Time Later----**

**DAILY PROPHET SPECIAL 213b: VICTORY!**

**JAMES POTTER: FUTURE MINISTER?**

**DUMBLEDORE ON WHY WE SHOULD STAY WITH EUROPE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, there are only two certainties in life...


	3. Death and Taxes (Milicent Bagnold I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minister Bagnold recieves several visitors, Magical France causes problems and Sirius gets elbowed in the ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before this chapter starts, I would like to quickly point out that wizarding and muggle ‘geography’ do not necessarily align. We see this in canon, with how Ireland does not have its own Ministry of Magic.

November 1st, 1981

Eighteen hours, thirty-four minutes and twenty-two seconds earlier, a lone woman and man were sat in a meeting deep within the Ministry of Magic; the same organisation that Alice, Frank and James worked for as Aurors. Despite being unrelated, they bore remarkably similar appearances – short grey hair, thick-set shoulders and dark, piercing eyes. Both were regarded by their co-workers with respect and fear, after several painful examples of their commitment to opposing the Dark Lord. Similar opinions were held by their enemies, who had experienced several setbacks at the pair’s hands. It should not come as a surprise that either of them received their current positions in wartime, for who better to fight monsters than monsters? Or at least that was how some parts of the public saw the situation.

Unbeknownst to the two public servants, the problem they were considering had already been solved and the news of the climatic event was steadily soaring towards them. Even now, a group comprised of Albus Dumbledore, James, Lily and Harry Potter, Sirius Black and Rubeus Hagrid were marching towards the Security Desk to present their wands; after which they would take the lifts up to Level One and demand entrance from the woman’s Senior Undersecretary. But as of yet that had not happened and so the two were still unaware of You-Know-Who’s defeat and therefore preoccupied with scheming.

“I am afraid the Transylvanian Ministry has declined our request to borrow one of their special teams” said the man, scowling as if this was a personal insult; “They claim to be preoccupied with Romanian encroachment on their territory and aggressive movement from Constantinople. I question this statement, considering both of the former nations are too preoccupied with internal matters. I suggest-”

“What of France?” barked the woman.

“The French have agreed to transfer several teams of aurors to us on loan” remarked the man: “However they request several policy changes and ‘favours’ in return. They also require a ‘small’ payment.”

“How small?” questioned his superior. She leaned back into her chair, the hard wooden back pressing into her spine.

“Ten-Thousand Galleons, along with an additional Thousand for every auror lost in the line of duty.’

“That’s extorsion” the woman spat, eyes narrowed; “Surely, they realise we cannot afford to pay our own staff, let alone theirs as well?”

“I suspect they are entirely aware of that, considering the alternative option they have provided” said the man, looking more furious by the second; “Which is us acknowledging the Ministry of Flanders as illegitimate.”

A tense silence followed the man’s last statement. The woman sighed and rubbed her forehead, in a manner she had rarely done before the previous year’s election. “Really, Barty?” she muttered, “All this because of a country that succeeded over five-hundred years ago? I distantly recall them signing several treaties to prevent this happening.”

“I would blame Wallonia more than France in this case, Minister” stated Barty, “Current issues with the Muggle government seem to have enflamed their desire to ‘regain the west’. That isn’t to say they haven’t been seeking a union for centuries, though they have never before gained French support for such an outcome.”

“Hmph.” The Minister scoffed, before standing and marching to a map pinned to a wall of her office. The map had been owned by her predecessor Harold Minchum and brought into the office when he rose from the Department of International Magical Cooperation to the post of Minister. He had not seen fit to take it with him when forced out of office and for that, at least she was grateful. With the adjustment of a small lever the map could be changed between muggle and magical geography, though the former was rarely useful to her. She prodded at the blue patch occupying a large chunk of Western Europe, which caused the map to yell something unrepeatable in French.

Such a reaction was oddly satisfying.

“Send a reply to France stating that we will agree to their second offer” she stated, after only a tiny moment to think; “Then send another _confidential _owl to Flanders offering our support under the table once You-Know-Who is dealt with. In the meantime, reach out to Wallonia for their support – if they wish for us to aid them, albeit indirectly, then they can pay for it.”

“As you wish, Minister” replied the man, standing from his own seat and making for the door.

“I told you to call me Millicent in private” muttered the woman, under her breath.

Before her colleague could leave the room entirely, they heard a commotion from outside the room. Aaron Fawley, her Senior Undersecretary (and an imposing former auror) was shouting at someone along with several other members of her direct staff and being confronted in turn by several men and a woman she did not recognise. Both she and Barty drew their wands and backed away from the door, with Millicent herself making for an alarm that would summon the entire Auror office to her present location. If her day had come…well, she would not go quietly. Maybe one of the aurors would get lucky and at least injure You-Know-Who.

She was prevented from pressing the alarm by the sudden quieting of outside, followed by a short rap at the door. Seven knocks. According to the briefing she had been given after entering office, that was code for ‘all clear’. Only she and the Senior Undersecretary knew that, so that in the event of attack the Minister of Magic had the highest chance to escape. Aaron – willingly or unwillingly, though he was _supposed_ to be able to throw off the Imperius – was stating that and her impression was further confirmed by him calling “Minister Bagnold? If you’re available there’s a group here to see you.” Usually she would have acquiesced immediately, but the argument prior made her wary of trickery.

“What was the argument about, Aaron?” she demanded, nodding to Barty as they kept their wands pinned to the door.

“We were surprised by Dumbledore’s arrival, Ma’am!” the secretary replied, “He says that You-Know-Who’s dead!”

Dead?!

But…that is…could it be? Was the Dark Lord human enough to die, even to a wizard as great as Albus Dumbledore, defeater of Grindelwald? It seemed too good to be true. Barty was likewise struck by the news, lowering his wand almost a foot before his training and paranoia took control again.

Was this another trick? She remembered her former boss telling her of a similar incident, where the Death Eaters had used a lie like this to gain access to a house over in Dorset – with fatal results.

“Could Dumbledore please confirm that?” she requested, making the reasonable assumption that no Death Eater would stand a chance of impersonating the man. Therefore, if the man replied her worries about trickery could be laid to rest.

There was a pause from outside and the sound of movement.

Then as a familiar warm voice replied to her question both she and Barty relaxed. The Minister almost sagged against her desk in relief. “It’s quite alright, Millicent” said the voice; “Aaron here is correct, Voldemort has been defeated. Might we enter?”

“Certainly” she replied, reseating herself behind her desk just as the door entered and a curious crowd began to enter the office. In front was Dumbledore, robed and smiling as always. Behind him came Alastor Moody, limping and Professor McGonagall with a rare smile on her face. And behind them came three people (and a baby) she did know, though she recognised one of the men as Fleamont Potter’s son.

“Is it true, Albus?” Barty questioned; “Is Voldemort dead?” The man had his arms crossed and eyes narrowed, obviously expecting that Aaron had been overenthusiastic.

Dumbledore nodded. “He is and has been for about an hour at my estimation” he said, “I examined his body and collected his wand personally; I trust that is evidence enough? I doubt my ability to be incorrect in this case.”

“That’s more than enough” Millicent replied.

“I would like to examine the body myself.” Barty was apparently still suspicious. “Perhaps with Richard and his deputy – Alastor, if you wouldn’t mind – just to make sure it is Voldemort and not a decoy under Polyjuice or another means of disguise. It would not do to let our guard down prematurely-”

“Do you really think Dumbledore wouldn’t notice if Voldemort was a decoy?” exclaimed one of the unknown men – a tall and bearded individual – who had accompanied the man in question. “Or the rest of us; we all saw his body!”

Barty’s frown deepened. “Caution is always preferable to rashness, Black – perhaps you should remember that in future.”

‘Black’ scowled and shuffled behind the woman.

Millicent’s mind was racing. “If we move quickly we should be able to get the news to the prophet before dawn breaks. In the meantime Barty, send everyone – yes everyone, even the ones in hiding or deep cover – after the Death Eaters we have locations on. We need to strike while they are still reeling from the news of the Master’s defeat, so aim for just after breakfast. Spread the news to the other papers as well, maybe even the muggle ones under a fake name – ‘Seigneur Ténèbres’ or some such – we don’t know where his supporters get their news from, but we want them to know now. The quicker we strike, the more of them we will catch. Aaron! Send an owl to the ICW informing them of this, we want foreign relations back to normal as soon as possible. Get them to capture any of the scum who flee overseas. Barty, cancel that message to France – actually, send their ‘offer’ and an assurance that we reject said offer to the Ministry in Flanders.” She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. “Dumbledore, the Prophet will probably want to interview you for the morning edition – congratulations, by the way – and if you wouldn’t mind it would-”

Dumbledore coughed, his eyes twinkling madly. “Begging your pardon Millicent, but I did not actually defeat Voldemort. I was not even present at the time. James here-” he said, gesturing to the other man who had come with him, the one with his arm around the waist of a redhead holding a baby; “-did the dead. He deserves your congratulations at this time, rather than myself.”

The Minister and her subordinate looked at the man – ‘James’, Fleamont Potter’s son – with new eyes. “Truly? Well, then you have my congratulations Mr Potter” she said, smiling at the man in question; “I shall personally ensure that you are rewarded – an Order of Merlin, First Class and the prior bounty naturally, but if you ever wish for a position in the Ministry-”

“Mr Potter is already employed by the Auror department” stated Barty.

“Is that so?” Millicent’s mind began considering the possibilities inherent in that; at the very least, she could use it to provide ‘proof’ that the Auror Department really was useful in the defence of the Wizarding World. “Well, I’m sure Barty will take note of your actions Mr Potter.”

“Thank you Minister” the man replied, after a swift kick to the shin from his wife; “I will…” Several people raised eyebrows. “Thank you. You too, Mr Crouch.” He smiled, then went to stand back (hide) with Black.

Black muttered something to him, James responded by elbowing him in the ribs.

Dumbledore’s smile grew ever wider. “Well then, if that settles matters I will show Barty and Alastor where the body is; assuming James and Lily have no worries about us trespassing temporarily?” Both nodded in reply. “Excellent. Before that, I will just have a quiet word about our next moves with you Millicent and Barty, if you wouldn’t mind…”

**\----The Following Morning----**

**MINISTER BAGNOLD TO ICW: “I ASSERT OUR INALIENABLE RIGHT TO PARTY.”**

**FRANSE MINISTERIE LIEGT HUICHELAARS!**

**CONTINU** **Ă SĂ CREASCĂ** ** POPULA** **Ț** **IA VAMPIRILOR** **!**

* * *

** A really stupid Omake **

“What was the argument about, Aaron?” she demanded, nodding to Barty as they both kept their wands pinned to the door.

“We were surprised by Dumbledore’s arrival, Ma’am!” the secretary replied, “He says that You-Know-Who’s _deaf_!”

_“He says what?!”_

_“Deaf ma’am!”_

_“Pardon?”_

_“Deaf!”_

_“Speak Up!”_

_“DEAF!”_

_“WHY ARE YOU TALKING SO QUIETLY!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said at the top, Wizarding and Muggle geography does not entirely align, though most borders are relatively similar. Ireland is an example of this is canon, as are the Flanders and Transylvanian mentioned here (at least according to the wiki). ‘Constantinople’ isn’t an example in canon, but I’ve included it here on the assumption that a magical remnant of Byzantium stands a decent chance of surviving – though with the footnote being that it’s Ministry of Magic has little to no contact with the Muggle World. Other ‘historical’ states that have ceased to exist may do likewise.
> 
> Say, Sirius is in a fair amount of trouble at the moment...


	4. A Howl Lot of Trouble (Sirius Black I)

November 2nd, 1981

  
_“I should have known it’d be you. What did he offer you, the chance to be the wolf openly?”_

As Sirius stood shivering outside the old cottage, he tried to appreciate (rather than suffer) the chill in the air this far north. He tried not to appreciate just how much of a fool he’d been regarding Remus. James had assured him that Remus would understand his paranoia, given the damage inflicted on Wizarding Britain by the Death Eaters. It was only natural that it would throw itself out at the worst time imaginable, filling his head with madness and suspicion directed at the wrong person. He hadn’t meant it! He knew full well that Remus was _nothing_ like Greyback and the rest of his kind. It was just that he…couldn’t find a way of saying that. Not after what he had said two weeks ago.

_“You say a lot about foul blood Black, but let’s look at yours, shall we?”_

Not that what Remus had said was any better.

But as with most of their arguments, Sirius _had_ started it. Maybe there was too much of his mother in him. The craggy old bitch would be finally proud of him and wasn’t that something.

Still, there had been a spy in their little group, only it wasn’t Remus or him.

Damn Peter! How could he ever have betrayed them? They were his friends, his only friends! He and James and Remus had been the only people Peter even associated with at Hogwarts, how had he even managed to fall in with the Death Eaters? Was _Snivellus_ responsible? Had that bastard gone behind their backs and recruited him? Was there some girl they’d never heard of, luring him over to You-Know-Who by waving her breasts in his face? Had Sirius, himself done something? Had his family, blaming him for whatever happened to Regulus-

How could this have happened?

Such had been Sirius’ thoughts since yesterday, when he had arrived at Godric’s Hollow to find the door blasted into a bush and a body lying prone on the doorstep. That corpse had turned out to be You-Know-Who’s – and wasn’t that a shock, Prongs killing the Dark Lord! – but for a few moments he could have sworn that it was James dead there. What would that have meant for Lily and Harry? Would they have been dead too? Or would they have survived, as a widow and an orphan still hunted by the Death Eaters?

Why would Peter do such a thing? How could he have betrayed them?

Sirius had considered the possibility – briefly, when he’d been recovering from shock at the sight of You-Know-Who’s corpse – that Peter was surely under the Imperius. Even though Dumbledore had assured them that the Fidelius could need be revealed under such treachery, there was always the possibility that the Dark Lord had found a way. New spells were discovered all the time, was the idea that such a powerful wizard found a way around the Fidelius so impossible?

Maybe not, but it didn’t matter. He knew, as sure as he’d ever known anything that Peter – _Wormtail_ – was under no compulsion except his own cowardice. He probably went _dancing_ to You-Know-Who the moment he became secret keeper, delighted to buy his life at the expense of James, Lily and Harry’s. Did he even hesitate for one moment?

_Soon_, Sirius promised himself, _as soon_ _as possible_ he would hunt that rat down _and tear his head from his bloody-_

A nudge from James brought him back to the present.

Remus stood on the doorstep. He did not look happy.

“Come in. Make sure the door’s closed firmly, there’s a draft this morning.”

\------------

It took Sirius at least a minute to realise that James was glaring at him. Remus had taken them through into the sitting room of the cottage procured from the previous owners, dead at the hands of the enemy several months prior. Dumbledore had offered the werewolf the building, since it was far too obviously damaged to be handed over to the muggles and Remus had been thrown out of his last apartment. A bunch of charms (and transfiguration at the hands of the resident prodigy) later it was halfway liveable, and the muggles were none the wiser. It still stunk faintly of wet fur, however.

The two of them had been ushered into armchairs and offered tea, while their host hung around and nodded at James’ comments on the décor (all very positive). The tension of prior words hung like a shroud over the gathering and Sirius noted that his old friend refused to look at him. Combined with James’ glares, it was obvious both of them were planning to hold him to task for his words two weeks ago.

Which was ridiculous, since James had previously called them both idiots! Why was he now the sole villain?

Still, he cleared his throat. “Remus.” The man finally looked at him. “I am…I…I wish to…what I mean to say, is-”

The werewolf raised an eyebrow.

Sirius attempted to continue. “I am…truly sorry, entirely sorry...for what I said about you and…y’know. I didn’t mean any of it! But…that doesn’t mean that it means nothing, and you were right to be upset.” He scratched at his beard for a moment, now wishing that he’d bothered to properly rehearse this apology, rather than waste time brooding about his idiocy. “I…shouldn’t have said any of it…because it was wrong! And you are my friend. But also, because it was wrong! You’re nothing like Greyback! Or any of the other werewolves! Nothing!”

James was no longing glaring. Now his shoulders were shaking to the extent that he’d needed to put down his tea to avoid spilling any on the carpet. Remus’s expression was unreadable, however.

Again, Sirius scratched at his beard. Had it always been so hot in here?

When Remus spoke, his voice carried little warmth. “There are a lot of ‘my kind’ not in service to You-know-who, Sirius. Finding them is what Dumbledore asked me to do, which as I recall provoked your suspicions in the first place.”

The former Black heir attempted to backtrack slightly from his previous statement. “-I know that. But…uh…you know what I meant! You are nothing, nothing like the werewolves employed by Voldemort!”

The two other men in the room instinctively flinched, as did Sirius when he’d realised his choice of words.

He still recovered quicker. “Get over yourselves!” he barked, voice cracking only slightly; “The man’s been dead for over a day at this point!”

“Hmm” Remus mused, “According to the Prophet he was killed by Prongs and Lily’s cat teaming up.”

“For once the Prophet is mostly correct” James replied, “Though I like to think I did most of the work.”

Remus blinked. _“Mostly correct – Really?”_

“Really” James and Sirius chorused.

“The blighter looked immensely smug afterwards, to boot” continued Sirius.

“I thought he looked horrified, more than anything” said James.

“The cat, not You-Know-Who” detailed Sirius.

“Oh.”

_“Really?”_ repeated Remus, still struggling with comprehending the Dark Lord’s final moments. Judging by the look on his face, he was valiantly trying not to fall to the floor cackling. As it was, the smile on his face threatened to consume the rest of his features. “I wouldn’t like to be a Death Eater now-”

“Hey” James said.

Sirius had the decency to look sheepish.

“-more than usual, I mean. The bastards must be having heart-attacks, seeing their leader off himself in such a manner. The most feared Dark Wizard ever to threaten Britain – killed by a fucking cat! The muggleborns were comparing him to Hitler before this, now he’ll be lucky to get compared to Mussolini!”

“Who?” the two others questioned.

“I’ve have actually heard of the first one” stated James, “One of Grindelwald’s pals, I think.”

“Yes” Remus explained, “Mussolini was an Italian Muggle Dictator and a bit of a prick. I’d forgotten neither of you did Muggle Studies back at school.”

“I’ll have you know I studied plenty of Muggles in my time” remarked Sirius, not even attempting to hide his smugness.

The other two rolled their eyes in unison.

“Hmm” Remus mused, “I suppose Dumbledore might wish to press on the manner of You-Know-Who’s death to get rid of any supporters he still has. Most Dark Lords – including this one, I believe – have the core portion of their followers, the ‘inner circle’ so to speak comprised of allies brought to their side by awe and fear as much as anything. Stop the loyal Death Eaters representing You-Know-Who, and you’ve destroyed his organisation.”

“Does Dumbledore have to worry about that?” questioned Sirius, “Won’t the Death Eaters just collapse on their own without Voldy around to force them together?”

“Maybe?” Remus shrugged, “If we look at the historical precedent there are examples of both happening: Emeric, Merwyn and Herpo the Foul’s followers fell apart the minute they died; but conversely, Deverill’s organisation stayed united under the command of Loxias, despite the latter killing the former. A sizable part of it survived Loxias’ disappearance in turn, actually and continued to torment Bavaria for at least a few years afterwards.”

“Grindelwald’s army also survived his defeat for about a decade” remembered James, “Though it lost most of its power and numbers. Um…what was the name of the leader? Rosier, that’s it. Relative of your aunt, Sirius.”

“Really? I’d have thought Bella and Cissy would have brought up that more at family gatherings” Sirius mused.

“Dumbledore, Lily and I briefly spoke on the matter of _his_ followers last night” stated James, “Sirius knows this because he was eavesdropping. Apparently, some of them – such as Malfoy – are pleading the Imperius, probably betting that they can bribe the necessary people to avoid veritaserum.”

“A fairly sensible idea on his part” said Remus, “There are several legal loopholes that he could use to avoid being drugged up. Being as rich as he is, his lawyers are doubtlessly aware of this.”

James continued: “I plan to use my ‘soft power’ as Lily put it – political jargon Sirius, don’t make that face – to push for the veritaserum against him; probably in that interview I’m meant to be doing on the sixth. Malfoy’s trial isn’t until the tenth so there should be plenty of time to get the public up in arms – even the sceptics will side with me, rather than being seen criticising ‘The-Man-Who-Won’”.

“The man who what?” Sirius laughed.

“Apparently Witch Weekly has been touting it as my new epithet” James said, “I personally think it suits me quite well!”

That outburst was the final straw for the group. Sirius and Remus were sent cackling to the floor, with James following only a moment later.

\----------------

Though Remus appeared to have forgiven him, Sirius made sure – in what he felt was a surprising show of maturity on his part – to seek him out again that afternoon, while James was occupied in the bathroom.

“Remus” he began, “Moony. What I said earlier about calling you a traitor…I do mean it. I am sorry. Truly.”

The werewolf stared at him for several moments, his bruised and scared features standing starkly in the light of the fire. “Okay” he said.

“Okay?”

“I forgive you” he said, “You were stressed at the time, I can understand that. What you said hurt, I won’t deny; but I accept you didn’t mean it. We’ve been friends long enough for that, I think and despite whatever you might be at your worst Sirius, I have seen you at your best. So, I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

“And in turn, I ask you to forgive me for making insinuations about you. You are nothing like your family, bar Andromeda, and I am sorry to have said otherwise.”

“Of course,” Sirius said, “Without hesitation.”

“Good” Remus replied.

“Great” Sirius stated.

What Remus might have said is unknown, for at that moment the two flung their arms around each other.

**\----ARTICLES OF VARYING REPUTE----**

**WHAT THE MUGGLEBORNS ARE SAYING TODAY: MUSSOLINI AND WHY YOU SHOULD HATE HIM.**

  
  
**TIGHTER RESTRICTIONS FOR WEREWOLVES PROPOSED IN WIZENGAMOT!**

  
  
**WARRANT ISSUED FOR THE ARREST OF PETER PETTIGREW, SUSPECTED TRAITOR TO THE MAN-WHO-WON!**


	5. The 394 Steps (Severus Snape I)

November 4th, 1981

  
“You wished to see me, Professor?”  
  
Severus Snape, former loyal follower of Lord Voldemort turned spy, tentatively eased open the door to his current master’s office. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was sat behind his desk reading the evening edition of the Daily Prophet. As had been the case every day for the last week, the cover was emblazed with a massive photograph of the Dark Lord’s slayer – an image that brought mixed emotions to the spy.  
  
Dumbledore peered over his newspaper and smiled, before beckoning Snape into the room proper. Fawkes the Phoenix trilled at him from his stand, the bird’s feet shifting impatiently.  
  
“I did Severus, thank you for attending so promptly to my request. I regret to say that much of my schedule is occupied in recent days and so rescheduling this appointment would have been surprisingly awkward. Madam Pomfrey would have been most upset, were I to miss tonight’s lecture at St. Mungo’s.” The white bearded wizard lay down his paper, enabling Severus to see the article that the headmaster had been reading prior to his entrance. Across two pages were presented the photographs of men and women he knew all too well, depicted under the harsh title of ‘**DEATH EATERS STILL AT LARGE: REWARD INCREASED FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THEIR CAPTURE**.’ It was only the Professor’s patronage preventing Severus’ own face from being on that paper with Bellatrix, the Lestrange brothers and the thrice-damned Carrows, though increasingly the spy wondered after the worth of his actions that acquired him such patronage – was even Lily’s life really worth seeing _Potter’s_ face plastered _everywhere _and praised across all of Britain?  
  
Even the news of his former master’s passing had done nothing to ingratiate him to the swine. Could the madman not have allowed Lily – _a true magical_ – to slay him, rather than leaving the job to a stag and a cat? A cat! It was scarcely believable.  
  
“Please sit” Dumbledore said, gesturing him into an overstuffed armchair. Snape did so, with a slump that belied his weariness.  
  
“I assume you have a good reason for bringing me out of hiding?” he demanded of the old man; “Bagnold and Crouch insist on having me tailed everywhere, even with you assuring them of my ‘goodness’ and loyalty! It took me half an hour to lose them, so that none would know of my visit here and I had to travel halfway to _Falmouth_ of all places!”  
  
“I do indeed have an excellent reason for asking you here tonight, Severus” replied Dumbledore, “And I imagine that you will appreciate that reason, considering it concerns you and your continued freedom exclusively. Have you been reading the Prophet?”  
  
“Yes” Severus growled, “I have a subscription, as you well know.”  
  
“Do you?” If the headmaster had noticed the blatant aggression in the spy’s tone, he refused to show it in his twinkling eyes and calm smile. “I must have forgotten, pardon me. What I was referring to specifically in the Prophet was the recent article on the upcoming trials, including yours naturally.”  
  
“I have read it” snapped the former Death Eater, still silently furious at the newspaper and doubtlessly, the Ministry for revealing his status as a spy to Britain. Prior to the declaration, the vast majority of wizards had no comprehension of his dual roles as insurgent and spy. Prior to the declaration, _his former allies_ had no knowledge of his second role and true ‘loyalties’. But now…_now_ they knew and while he expected Dumbledore’s protection would shield him from a public baying for blood, he could not be certain that the same would be true should the Dark Lord’s remaining followers come after him.  
  
Severus considered himself a great wizard, correctly or incorrectly. But he knew that Bellatrix and a few others of the inner circle were by far his superior, though it galled him to admit that.  
  
“Then you will know that James Potter is using every ounce of his newfound power to push for the use of veritaserum in all trials” Dumbledore stated. He was no longer smiling. “_Your_ trial would be among them. While I believe the Ministry will be happy to pardon you on the strength of my word, I cannot assure you of that. Your faith in my ability to keep you out of Azkaban – should Barty decide you have not repented _enough_.”  
  
“Stupid Potter, sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong” Severus growled, “He should leave the trials to be run by his superiors.” Not that the spy was fond of them either.  
  
“I fear you would like that even less, Severus” Dumbledore replied, “Since Barty is of the opinion that the accused don’t need a trial at all and should be thrown in Azkaban without questioning. Perhaps an understandable opinion given the weight of crimes committed and his ambitions, though a highly flawed and I dare say, immoral one. I have tried to dissuade him from it, with little success. Wartime does tend to bring out the worst in people.”  
  
“You’re the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot!” Snape yelled, leaping out of chair and bearing down on the headmaster’s desk; “They have to listen to you! They must!”  
  
The older wizard’s voice was solemn, although calm. “Tradition holds that the position of Chief Warlock is strictly impartial in all debates and trials that take place before the Wizengamot. In my tenure I have seen fit to keep that rule, only voting to break a tie – in which case I would vote for your innocence, as is the custom. And even if I were to break that rule, I would have no authority over the Department of Law Enforcement. While I have happily stated my opinion on your case to Barty and Millicent in private and on the day will do the same before the court; they _are_ free to disagree with me. Such is democracy.”  
  
Democracy? Severus almost laughed. If the Ministry wished to surrender truly to the will of the people, he and in all likelihood half the pure-blooded population of Britain would find themselves hung on ropes in the Atrium. Perhaps the children would be spared the wrath of a population that had suffered under the Dark Lord’s foot for years.  
  
“And considering that the public are screaming for blood, they probably will!” muttered the former Death Eater. “At least if they want to keep their jobs. I assume your suggestion is fleeing the country? Not to France naturally, but maybe somewhere that doesn’t have an extradition treaty? Like Iberia?”  
  
“I do not believe that it will come to that.”  
  
“That’s easy for you to say!” Severus snapped, “They aren’t considering handing you over to the Dementors!” He paced the room, almost – but not quite – giving into the temptation to kick a table in frustration. “I don’t even speak Spanish, though there are ways around that.”  
  
He knew of at least two potions that would assist in learning another language, though the better was illegal in most countries.  
  
“That will not be necessary” Dumbledore repeated. That damned sparkle was back in his eyes, though his expression was still low on warmth. “I confess, I had considered advising you to vacate the country for a few years while waiting for a pardon; though I was personally thinking of Italy, which has a history of potions and lack of intrusive infrastructure that might well suit you. Plus, Mirto does look quite beautiful in November.”  
  
Severus snorted.  
  
“Perhaps not, then” the headmaster allowed, “Though I would still advise it for a vacation.”  
  
The spy fumed. “I don’t need a vacation; I need a pardon! And if you can’t get me one, I shall have to go elsewhere. I have enough information to ensure my worth to certain factions-”  
  
“Factions such as the Malfoys?” questioned the spymaster; “Yes, I’m sure dear Lucius would be happy to trade your life for the information you hold – assuming that I would allow such a meeting to happen, of course…” The elderly wizard looked infuriately smug; Snape bristled at the _blatant _implication of what would happen were he to go behind Dumbledore’s back. “However, the Malfoys have larger problems than saving you, Severus. If Lucius does escape Azkaban, I am assured he will be a much poorer man because of it.”  
  
“I could-”  
  
“Throw yourself on the mercy of another Death Eater?” the man continued, “Perhaps. Though I do not believe that such an arrangement would persist for long were certain actions of yours to come to light. Such is the risk for a spy.”  
  
Snape glared, before slouching back into his seat. Whether he liked it or not, throwing himself on the headmaster’s mercy was the only way to escape joining Greyback and Dolohov. “Your plan then?” he began, “I assume you have one?”  
  
“I do” Dumbledore smiled warmly, “Rest assured that I do not want you in Azkaban Severus. I do not believe you deserve that punishment, or that it would serve any purpose beside feeding the current appetite of the populace. In the case that the Ministry decides that you do not deserve a pardon despite my stated opinions, I will endeavour to relieve you from that prison sooner rather than later; whether by legal means such as having your sentence redefined as community service, or by other actions should they be necessary.” He picked up the paper, turned it to the front page and gestured to the photograph plastered there. “As for my plan, I believe that should be obvious. James Potter is the leading voice calling for veritaserum to be used in all trials. Therefore, you must convince him to make an exception in your case.”  
  
“I will not go begging to _Potter_” spat Snape, “I’d rather go to Azkaban than be in his or _Black_’s debt.”  
  
“Would you?” challenged the headmaster, “I sincerely doubt that, having visited Azkaban in my time. Even a few hours on that island is enough to weaken the strongest man, corrupted as it is.”  
  
“I tell you I will not beg!” the spy roared, “You’ve already tried to drum up fondness in me towards that man and it will not work – he only saved me to save his own skin! If I go crying before him, tell me, what I will have to do to earn ‘respect’ in his eyes? Lick his boots? Admit to being wrong _all those years ago_? Renounce the Death Eaters in front of all his friends and grovel for mercy? I will not!”  
  
“I do not expect you to beg” said Dumbledore, calmly; “And while I have defended James Potter’s rescue of you, I advise you to remember that I did not extend the same privilege to Sirius Black. He was, indeed, very lucky to avoid expulsion. But that is irrelevant, because I do not intend you to beg; merely ask. Why would he deny the man who’s warning saved his family _anything_?”  
  
Severus slumped further down in the armchair. “You told him?” he muttered, “Of course, you did. Despite my demand not to tell him or Lily or that _Mutt _about my part in this! Do you delight in going behind other’s backs, revealing information sworn in confidence for some greater good?!”  
  
“That is enough” Dumbledore firmly said. It was not a request. He continued more even-handedly; “I have not told James or Lily (or Sirius for that matter) about your part in this. If you would prefer, I will never do so – though saving your life in that case will prove more challenging. But I would advise you to allow me that privilege; you may be interested to know that Lily has already made a request to speak to ‘My Spy’, albeit on a different matter that I shall need to brief you on at a later date.”  
  
Snape’s voice was soft. “…Lily has asked to see me?” Though he understood that any friendship between them was long gone, the news still stirred something within him. But Dumbledore had said he hadn’t told them of his identity…  
  
“She has indeed” Dumbledore replied, “If you wish, you may – as they say – ‘hang around’ until they arrive.”  
  
“The Potters are coming here?” Snape yelped, jumping to his feet.  
  
“Why, yes” the headmaster said, mouth turned with amusement; “They are my next appointment after yourself, the last before I need to leave for St. Mungo’s. Did you not think I was in contact with them?”  
  
“I didn’t expect them to be coming now!” the former Death Eater barked, “What else haven’t you told me?”  
  
“A fair amount” Dumbledore allowed, still seemingly amused; “I consider myself to have had good reasons. You need not worry Severus; they will not be here for several minutes. If you wish, you may leave now, and I shall not breathe a word of your presence here tonight. Or, if you wish, you may stay and perhaps we can put the events of the past behind us all.”  
  
Severus Snape muttered something unrepeatable.  
  
Then he slunk into the armchair and began to wait.

\----------------

James Potter was quick to draw his wand upon spotting Snape, only relenting and replacing the stick following a cough from Dumbledore. While Lily did not draw her own wand, her features notably tightened and her jaw clenched. For Severus that was an uncomfortably familiar expression, for it was the one she had regarded him with ever since that fateful day in their fifth year.  
  
“Headmaster” she greeted, “May I ask what he is doing here?” Her husband grunted in agreement; his eyes locked in a glare that the former Death Eater happily returned.  
  
“You may” Dumbledore said cheerfully, eyes twinkling with deep amusement; though his hand was quietly resting on his own wand.  
  
Lily sighed. “Then what is that reason?” she asked, grabbing James by the arm to stop him from making his own comment.  
  
“I’m here at your own request, apparently” Snape stated, eyes flickering to the woman’s face.  
  
Before the Potters could question that statement, the eldest wizard in the room saw fit to clarify: “You requested to see my foremost spy in Voldemort’s organisation Lily, as I’m sure you remember? Severus here is that spy.”  
  
James and Lily stared at the man with wide eyes, before the first quietly muttered “Well I wouldn’t have expected that.” Lily lightly smacked him in response.  
  
“Is this true, Snape?” she asked, with what the man himself thought was an unfair amount of suspicion. Weren’t they meant to be trusting Dumbledore’s word with their lives? Why else would they have gone undercover?!  
  
“Yes” he responded, “I have been in the headmaster’s own employ for two years now, unbeknownst to you.” He glanced back at James. “Or Potter.”  
  
“It was Severus here that brought Voldemort’s knowledge of the Prophecy to my own” Dumbledore stated, “Without him, I would not have known the necessity of moving you two and Harry under the Fidelius Charm, which…well I’m sure you can imagine the possible consequences.”  
  
“I can” Lily whispered, her face and James’ pale. She sharply inhaled; “Thank you then, Severus. I cannot repay what I owe you for that warning.”  
  
“Neither can I” James agreed, his voice grave; “Thank you. For Harry’s safety and for Lils.”  
  
The spy noted that Dumbledore had conveniently forgotten to mention his role in telling the Dark Lord of the prophecy in the first place. Still, he did not think it wise to correct him and so only nodded stiffly in response to Lily, while ignoring Potter’s half-hearted attempt.  
  
“There is one way you can repay Severus” the headmaster said, interrupting the conversation; “James, while I heartedly approve of your campaigning for all of Voldemort’s followers to have a fair trial, Severus cannot be among them.”  
  
James frowned. “Why not? If he’s been your spy all this time then he has nothing to fear from the Ministry.”  
  
Snape snorted, “Nothing to fear? Would you deny the Ministry’s ability to ignore certain information to get the result it desires, Potter? One needs only look at the people who’ve both been put in Azkaban under false charges or escaped it by bribes and blackmail!”  
  
“Millicent Bagnold is a good woman” said James with some force, “If you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to fear.”  
  
“I have several things to hide” the former Death Eater growled, “And I have no faith in Bagnold or her ability to control the courts. Nor do I have faith in Crouch’s willingness to put the law above his desire for advancement.”  
  
“Crouch is a harsh man, but he understands the value of defectors and spies as well as any head of my department. He will not throw you in Azkaban after turning your back on You-Know-Who!”  
  
“James” Lily interrupted, quieting both men; “I think Snape’s past actions might not be the problem here. Remember, he knows of the Prophecy and Harry’s role in events.”  
  
Dumbledore, who had been making to interrupt the heated argument smiled and relaxed back into his chair.  
  
James looked at his wife confusedly. “And?”  
  
“We can’t have all of Wizarding Britain know of the Prophecy. Not yet, anyway” she replied, “To do so would be to put Harry even more in the firing line than he is by association with us. We can’t risk that, or else they – the Death Eaters – will be going after him, rather than us. That’ll make measures such as leaving him with Frank and Alice to keep him out of harm’s way worse than useless.”  
  
James’ jaw was clenched. “I see” he said, “Very well. The veritaserum is the problem, correct? I’ll tell Barty I support letting Snape escape that part of the trial, if not the entire thing altogether. I…you’re right, we can’t risk Harry more than we already are.”  
  
Lily tried to raise a smile and grasped his arm for comfort. “It’ll only be for a few years. Just long enough to see Malfoy and the rest locked up.”  
  
Severus looked away and tried not to gag.  
  
Dumbledore coughed. “Now that is settled, I believe we can move on to less immediate concerns. Less stressful ones, perhaps? Would you like a lemon drop?” He proffered the tray.  
  
Lily and Snape declined. James shrugged and popped a small drop in his mouth. The headmaster smiled madly in response.  
  
“Now then, Severus, have you ever noticed any objects Voldemort prized above all else?”

\----------------

**WANTED: BELLATRIX LESTRANGE – DEAD OR ALIVE!** ****

**DEATH EATER TRIALS TO BEGIN ON THE 8TH**

**DEATH EATERS FLEE TO ARGENTINA! ** _ **(by Rita Skeeter)** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, the last one is actually about as accurate as North Korea’s propaganda, which is to say not at all.


	6. Appendixes 1-5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a reoccurring thing for the story, approximately every 5 chapters.

_Remember to wear your bias-detecting caps!_

** Appendix 1: Extract from the Daily Prophet, November 1st 1981  **

** CAT REVERED AS HERO BY WIZARDING WORLD **

_By Ernest Whip_

(Continued from Page 1)  
  
One of the most pressing questions this reporter had for Mr Potter was the manner in which he defeated You-Know-Who. Surely he must have devised some cunning spell to cast down the Dark Lord who has consistently outwitted the Auror Department’s attempts to bring him to justice? Perhaps he devised this spell with the assistance of Minister Bagnold and Head of Department Crouch, for Potter is a rising star in the Corps. Perhaps it was created under the guidance of Albus Dumbledore, who the Potter Family is known to be close to.  
  
The truth is significantly stranger and yet it could not be a more fitting end for this foulest of Dark Lords.  
  
You-Know-Who was defeated and slain by a _Stag animagus and a common House-cat. _This reporter expects that declaration will cause at least some consternation and confusion among this article's readers, so he shall endeavour to elaborate. Upon entering the Potter property (the exact location is currently unconfirmed, though it is believed to be in the north of England), the would-be Dark Lord was charged down by James Potter who had taken on the form of a stag through use of the animagus charm. For those who do not know, the animagus charm allows any witch or wizard to take on the form of an animal fitting to their personality - though it is a highly complex and difficult piece of magic. According to rumors uncovered by this paper from a source close to Bagnold, Potter managed to achieve this at age 15! An early sign of his brilliance to be sure. I am obligated by the Ministry to remind any who wish to follow in Potter's footsteps (or hoof prints perhaps?) that any successful Animagus must register with the Ministry or face prosecution. Moving on, He-who-must-not-be-named was caught by surprise by Potter's transformation and was unable to draw his wand in time against the auror. Without his wand, he was brought down under the stag's antlers and hooves. A fitting end for the monster in this reporter's mind: brought down under the feet of an animal and cast into the dirt. Indeed, one might say that James Potter's particular transformation is strangely fitting, for what animal better embodies the British spirit than a mighty stag?  
  
But where does the house-cat come into this? Well, it was cheerfully reported to this reporter by James Potter's closest friend Sirius Black (eldest son of Walburga and the late Orion Black) that on his way down - quite literally - You-Know-Who tripped over the animal; a ginger tomcat named Aslan. Yes, you read that correctly: You-Know-Who was defeated by a cat. A cat! Presumably the name comes from Aslan the Berber, famed discoverer of the Dark Pyramid of the Empty Quarter. While the Order of Merlin is traditionally limited to humans alone, there is already some pressure to grant it to the cat that brought down - or at least assisted in bringing down - a Dark Lord. And that is not something one gets to write every day.  
  


** Appendix 2: Extract from the Daily Prophet, November 3rd 1980  **

** WHO IS JAMES POTTER? **

_By Oliver Brisk_

Who is James Potter?  
  
The 'Man-Who-Won' as he is often called today comes from a proud wizarding heritage stretching back centuries, filled to the brim with wizards and witches of exceptional caliber and dignity. Indeed, Potter has much to be proud of even discounting his own great achievements and so this reporter has been put to the task or revealing this gossip for your own benefit!  
  
_James Potter_ himself was sorted into Gryffindor at Hogwarts, as with most of his family. He was appointed Head Boy (naturally) in his final year and was by all accounts a favourite of his teachers and a prodigy at transfiguration. One would guess Defence Against the Dark Arts was one of his strongest subjects as well. Perhaps best of all, James Potter was a chaser (though he briefly served as seeker on two occasions) on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team! At Hogwarts, his best friends and most loyal allies were Sirius Black (eldest son of Walburga and the late Orion Black) and Remus Lupin. Once out of Hogwarts, he joined the Auror Corps under the tutelage of Alastor 'One-Eye' Moody along with another friend, Frank Longbottom. He also married his childhood sweetheart _Lily Evans_, a strong (muggleborn) witch in her own right and Head Girl at the same time James was Head Boy. The couple have one son named _Harry_ together and formerly lived in Godric's Hollow until You-Know-Who's climatic attempt on their lives. They are currently believed to be staying with the Longbottoms.  
  
James Potter's father was _Fleamont Potter_, a powerful wizard noted for his skill at duelling (which clearly passed onto his son). Interestingly, Fleamont was the creator of the highly regarded _Sleekeazy's Hair Potion_ \- an invention that brought the family to the heights of wealth and respect. While the Potters no longer own the company, Fleamont's son still retains an honoury seat on the Shareholders Council should he wish to take it. Rather late in life, Fleamont married _Euphemia Longbottom_, a daughter from a sister branch to the main Longbottom line. By all accounts, Euphemia was a talented witch with a proclivity for charms. Both of James' parents passed away around New Year's 1979 from Dragon Pox.  
  
Fleamont Potter's father was _Henry Potter_, a highly regarded member of the Wizenmagot who famously got into a public spat with the then-Minister Archer Evermonde. He was sadly slain by Gellert Grindelwald (or a supporter) during the latter's campaign. He was married scandalously to the infamous _Carrie Hooch_, a beater for the Holyhead Harpies rumoured to be responsible for the 'accident' that rendered the 1901 cups unfinishable. She vanished for no known reason in 1955 and was only confirmed dead by Gringotts.  
  
Henry Potter had one brother, _Richard Potter_ who in turn had a son (Charlus) and a grandson (Edward). Sadly Richard's line was driven to extinction by the actions of the Death Eaters.  
  
Henry and Richard's father was _William Potter,_ noted for...  
  


** Appendix 3: A Pamphlet from Millicent Bagnold’s Election Campaign, April 1980  **

** VOTE BAGNOLD - A TRUE LEADER IN THE FIGHT AGAINST YOU-KNOW-WHO!  **

These are troubled times. Under the leadership of Eugenia Jenkins and Harold Minchum, our society has been brought into chaos by the insurgency commanded by You-Know-Who. Britain needs a strong leader to oust this would-be tyrant from our nation and bring him and his followers to justice.

** \- VOTE MILICENT BAGNOLD FOR MINISTER -  **

The Former Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and current Acting Minister of Magic, Milicent Bagnold has been working tirelessly to combat the terrorism of the Death Eaters despite the weak leadership given by the Office of Minister during Jenkins and Minchum’s incumbency. Despite their failures to safeguard the people of this nation, Bagnold has prevented many of the attempted crimes of You-Know-Who - even as the previous Ministers failed to give her department the funding and support required in these times. Among the tragedies prevented by the department under her leadership were the attempted assassination of the French Minister of Magic, the November 1978 attack on St Mungo’s Hospital and the April 1979 attack on Hogsmeade.

** \- VOTE MILICENT BAGNOLD FOR MINISTER -  **

Sorted into Ravenclaw at Hogwarts and appointed Prefect and then Head Girl by the then-Headmaster Armando Dippet, Milicent Bagnold has served the country in a long and distinguished career. She was quick to join the Auror Corps upon leaving school, passing through training and the required tests with flying colours. In 1955 she rose to become Head Auror, promoted in part for her crucial role in quelling the Quintaped Uprising of the previous year. In 1967 she succeeded the long standing Torquil Travers as Director of Magical Law Enforcement and served with honour and dignity, except when called upon to temporarily act as Minister for Magic following the dismissals of Jenkins and Minchum.

** \- VOTE MILICENT BAGNOLD FOR MINISTER -  **

If elected Minister for Magic, Milicent Bagnold vows to:

  * Increase funding to the Auror Corps and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in general.
  * Establish regular patrols in areas of high importance.
  * Catch all spies and traitors who have infiltrated our society.
  * Tighter restrictions for those beings who have fallen in with the Death Eaters.
  * Gain the support of foreign nations in defeating You-Know-Who.
  * Ban all ‘Happy Meals’ in Wizarding Britain.
  * Improve funding to Hogwarts, to ensure a suitable ability at defence in our Youth.
  * Appoint competent and loyal public servants to all departments of the Ministry.

She has been endorsed by Houses Longbottom, Macmillan, Greengrass, Prewett, Crouch and Black, the Departments of Magical Law Enforcement, Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, International Magical Cooperation and Magical Transportation, as well as the Daily Prophet, Ollivanders, Eeylops Owl Emporium, Honeydukes, Flourish and Blotts and Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

** VOTE BAGNOLD - ONE MINISTRY, ONE NATION, ONE BRITAIN!  **

** Appendix 4: Extracts from Literature regarding Werewolves  **

** Hairy Snout, Human Heart **

_Unknown (Published 1975)_

** Chapter 1: The Beast of Garroch **

  
…it was then that I saw him standing across the hillside, colored a ghostly hue by the light of the moon. Unobserved, the Beast appeared calm and oddly magnificent to my young eyes; I did not fear it, not yet. Through the course fur and the misshapen jaw brought on by the changes, I could almost see the shape of the man that must have been within. A heavy forehead, like my own father. An untrimmed beard. A hocked nose. Pale green eyes.  
  
Then it saw _me_ and my life was forever changed…

** The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection **

_By Quentin Trimble (published 1977)_

** Chapter Twenty-Nine: Werewolves **

  
As popularly known, a werewolf is a person who is transformed voluntarily or involuntarily into a wolf under the influence of full moon. The word werewolf is a contraction of the old-Saxon word “wer” (which means ‘man’) and wolf – werwolf, manwolf. Another term lycanthrope, often used to describes werewolves, however refers to someone who suffers from a mental disease of fantasizing that they are a werewolf without truly being afflicted. This mental disorder is termed lycanthropy and appears only with the magicless.  
  
There are several ways to become a werewolf, they include being given the power of shape-shifting through sorcery, being cursed by someone who you have wronged in some way – called Lycaconia curse – being bitten by a werewolf and being born to a werewolf. In any case the blood becomes tainted and cursed.  
  
A person who becomes a werewolf…

** Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don’t Deserve to Live **

_By Emerett Picardy (published 1957)_

** Chapter IV: On the Matter of the Lycanthropes’ Mental Degeneration **

  
…It is well known that those corrupted by Lycanthropy lose all sense of morality and humanity, regressing to mere beasts with little to distinguish them from the actual animal. Some weak-hearted whelps have suggested that this only affects the beasts when they are in ‘wolf-form’, most famously by Charlene de Montesinos in her poorly written volume on the subject: “Aside from those times when the infected is brought into madness by the moon’s glare, he is no different from the average man. Perhaps more tired, more withdrawn but no different.” (De Montesinos, 1876). THIS IS INCORRECT. Perhaps in degenerate Hispania they remain unknowing of the cruelty of a lycanthrope, but in Britain we are well aware of their curse – one needs only remember my already mentioned examples of Black Rona and the Beast of Garroch.  
  
Even the less obviously affected lycanthropes show an appalling lack of moral sensibility. One only needs look at the famed Silas Crump; once a promising student at Hogwarts, reduced to a petty thief by the bite of the foul-blooded. It should not come as a shock that those corrupted by Lycanthropy are unable to move on from this mortal plane, bound forever to the earth as a mark of Heaven’s shame upon them. Bishop Urban in his 1745 Sermon of the subject, recounts that…

** Hairy Snout, Human Heart **

_Unknown (Published 1975)_

** Chapter 3: Portree **

  
...It was early February when we finally left Illkley, my dear mother finally abandoning all hope of our neighbors seeing myself and my sister as anything but monsters again. I should have been sad to leave the town that had been the site of so many charming memories from my youth. In truth, I was relived to abandon the place - having rocks thrown at your back tends to sour most memories you have of a location. My poor sister was sadly more affected, however. I do not believe it was until that final day that she grasped quite how much our neighbors (who had once expressed love, and then sympathy, and then pity) now feared and despised us. I suspect - though I never asked and she certainly never confirmed - that she made a final trip to visit Alec in hopes of changing his feelings. Judging by how she agreed to leave, I cannot imagine the meeting went well. While I do not hope that he suffers as she did, I wish that he might one day understand truly how much he hurt her. Though perhaps that is petty.  
  
We spent at least a week staying over with my aunt in Mould-on-the-Would, a singularly arrogant woman who nonetheless refused to turn away family. Though I confess I never liked her as a child, her kindness to my family - particularly my weary and desperate mother - was truly generous. As an adult I endeavour to always send her a card on her birthday and a Christmas, which I hope is at least some token of my appreciation for that stay and the later one while on the run from Greyback’s pack. While at Mould-on-the-Would I was informed...

** Appendix 5: Extract from Wizarding World News, November 4th, 1981  **

** Author's Note: Do not take this one seriously - It's Rita Bloody Skeeter writing in the equivalent of 'The Sun' newspaper! **

** DEATH EATERS FLEE TO ARGENTIMA! **

_By Rita Skeeter_

  
It has come to this reporters attention (and therefore quill) that several unnamed Death Eaters have decided to flee the country to avoid the punishments our legal system would so enjoy inflicting upon them. Which country might they be fleeing to from Great Britain, I hear you ask? Why, none other than Argentina - a name my readers will surely recognize! The South Amirican nation is a natural choice for any fleeing justice, being a corrupt and ineffectual state even compared to weak countries like Flanders or Transylvania. No decent sort would ever want to visit such a poor and failed state. It has become even worse in recent years, as the muggle side of the country has suffered a coup performed by its equivalent to the Auror Corps; while the Wizarding side of the nation is increasingly divided between the remaining native population, Free Pataagonian rebels and the ineffectual Argentine Ministry. The addition of Death Eaters to this mix will surely only make the situation worse and makes this journalist wonder if one can even call it a country anymore?  
  
For those in the know (such as you and me dear readers), the choice of Argentina as refuge for Dark Wizards fleeing justice may seem familiar. Well, as it happens - it is! Many of Gellert Grindelvald's supporters fled to South America after his defeat at the hands of Albus Dumbledor. One imagines that they contributed to the miserable state of the country in the present...


	7. Walking With Beasts (Barty Crouch Snr I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, if it isn't sufficiently clear the departmental memos/notes are the paper aeroplanes visible throughout the Ministry scenes.

November 5th, 1981

Throughout the Ministry of Magic, a frenzy of excitement reigned. Staff from throughout the building filled the corridors of every department, half of them still hungover from the celebrations four days prior. Peace and quiet was a foreign concept to the wizarding government at the best of times (_mostly due to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes_), but for a man such as Bartemius Crouch Senior – who quite valued a disciplined working environment – this week had been intolerable. To his disappointment, his superior had declined to punish the worst offenders despite his ‘naming and shaming’; much as with the International Confederation of Wizards she had told him to let ‘them’ have their ‘fun’, before offering him part of the victory gift sent by the French Minister. _Typical._ While he certainly respected Millicent – she was his superior after all and certainly competent – he had always felt she was a bit soft on misbehaviour among Ministry staff, so long as they were truly on _her _side. Bartemius was not. Now was not the time to lay down their guard and arms, not with the Lestranges, Carrows and Pettigrew still at large. As Alastor Moody had put it, the beast that was Voldemort’s insurgency might be missing a head, but his claws were still quite able to cause problems. The Syndes had demonstrated that, with the three aurors they had cast into St. Mungo’s despite the country _apparently_ being at peace.

Barty also had a second reason for dismissing the French Minister’s gift. He only drank in private, where prying eyes could not oversee and leak the news to the papers. And he preferred sherry to anything the French made.

To keep unwanted guests from his company, Bartemius had taken an unusual step for him and cancelled all appointments for the day. He had informed his secretary to not let anyone into his office, unless they happened to be someone who outranked him. Any inquiries about Auror activity were to be directed at Alastor; if they were serious enough to require his direct attention, Moody would not let such a simple thing as a secretary keep him away. Anything smaller was unimportant, he had enough paperwork to go through even before anything new was added.

Currently he was browsing through reports made in the five days since Voldemort’s death. A stack of them had built up while he had been preoccupied with other matters, both above-board and below. Most principle of those matters had been hunting down the remaining Death Eaters, those who had not predeceased their master or handed themselves in the minute news of his death was public. While Bartemius had been of the opinion that just throwing them in Azkaban and being done with it was the best solution, annoyingly the rest of the wizarding world and his superior seemed to be of the opinion that a long and troublesome set of trials was required. Which was folly! Even if those on trial found no way to pervert them – of which there was no guarantee, since even Veritaserum had means by which it could be nullified (What were Dumbledore and Potter thinking, insisting for it in every trial!) – the Department was unlikely to learn anything that wasn’t already obvious. They had experts in identifying those under the imperius curse, why not use them rather than wasting taxpayer’s money on finding which terrorist was most guilty? He could use that money to streamline capturing the Carrows, or the Lestranges, or _Greyback_ who was still at large despite his department turning over half of Ireland! Money would open many doors that a badge could not.

The current report was a report on one of the Death Eaters captured prior to their master’s downfall; a Serbian named Igor Karkaroff. Alastor had caught him with his pants down in Knockturn Alley, where the fool had apparently been selling muggle artefacts looted off his victims. Crouch had felt no shame in throwing him to the Dementors without hesitation. However, according to the Aurors stationed at the prison, the year in Azkaban had broken Karkaroff to the extend that he was offering all the information gathered under the Dark Lord’s service in exchange for a lighter sentence. The fact that his former master was now unable to mete out retribution might also have had something to do with this. Bartemius himself had travelled to Azkaban to reveal the news to the prisoners; their reactions were a small treat after this long war. It had been eleven long years since the first attacks of the Death Eaters, or the Knights of Walpurgis as they were calling themselves back then. Like many who now dominated the Ministry, Crouch had rapidly progressed through the ranks of power as vacancies appeared for often violent reasons.

_To think he had been merely a judge before all this…_

Though he believed Karkaroff’s information would be most likely out of date – if not entirely known by the Ministry already – he wrote a note ordering the Death Eater temporarily moved into a Ministry holding cell, before folding it into a bird and sending it on its way with a flick of his wand. Any information he did know and they currently didn’t would be useful, even if it amounted to no arrests. In addition, if Karkaroff did manage to win himself a lighter sentence, perhaps other former servants of the Dark Lord would be willing to talk.

The following report was a particularly grim one, describing an attack one of Greyback’s followers in Lancashire. The beast had managed to kill five muggles and maim another before being put down. As was too often the case with those corrupted by lycanthropy, his department had arrived too late. It was a sad fact of the job that relatively speaking, wizards were easier to track than magical creatures – excepting Goblins, Hags and the guards of Azkaban. Robards had blamed it on the animals being ‘less flashy’, which while appallingly phrased was admittedly accurate. After reading it through twice, Bartemius retrieved his quill and added a few edits to protect the reputation of his department. A more junior member of staff would go over it again later to make it neat and tidy, before sending a copy to the Minister’s support staff, a copy to the department archives and an even more edited version to the Daily Prophet. He also wrote out a brief letter authorising the removal of the maimed muggle if it proved necessary, though _that_ would remain an internal communication.

Finding that his mouth was dry and his mug unfilled, Bartemius wrote out a quick note requesting a refill and sent it on its way with a swift flick of his wand. Before any coffee could arrive however, a fresh outbreak of cheering came from outside his office.

_A pity. _He had been hoping most of the drunkards would stay in the Department of Magical Games and Sports today.

He turned back to the reports regardless. If the fools outside failed to shut up promptly, then his secretary would see them off. The next one dealt with a minor incident involving the muggle aurors – ‘polizi-men’ if he recalled correctly. Apparently, a group of them had stumbled upon a patch of Bubotubers and ended up covered in boils as a result. Usually an incident such as this would fall under the jurisdiction of either the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee or the Office of Misinformation (in the most serious cases); unfortunately, the ‘polizi’ had reported the accident to their superiors before the Ministry’s informants discovered the incident. With the plants in muggle custody, an auror team would need to be dispatched along with the obliviators to make sure nothing went wrong.

_Yet another strain on his department!_

Bartemius was just about to write down the note authorising the mission when several loud knocks and a bark of “Barty!” sounded on his office door. Alastor. Hopefully this was important and not the man’s growing paranoia acting up again. He was – regardless of events earlier in the week – still the Ministry’s greatest auror, despite his many injuries. Half of his nose had been taken by Evan Rosier and a leg by a Gurg (a giant chieftain). And of course, his now magical eye had been taken even before the war by a particularly bloodthirsty Quintaped. Unfortunately, it was increasingly obvious that some of the man’s mind had deserted him as well. Still, it was best to trust him for now.

Crouch rose from his chair and made for the door. Upon opening it, he was greeted by the sight of a large group of cheerful aurors surrounding two unconscious and bound figures. Some of the aurors were sporting gashes and wounds, though none appeared to be serious. The figures however looked much worse: the man – was that a man? – had sustained a spiral of burns across his face and chest, while the woman resembled nothing so much as a turnip. A particularly ugly turnip. Both also sported other bruises and marks on their bodies and the man appeared to be missing a hand.

Bartemius recognised them of course, though it took several glances. Apparently, Alecto and Amycus Carrow had not handed themselves over quietly.

“See them confined into separate cells” he barked, gesturing to two junior aurors; “Maximum security – where they can’t see or hear each other.” The two rushed to do as he asked, levitating the twins away. As he turned to Alastor, he noticed the man was now missing part of his right ear. He didn’t seem bothered.

“Cornwall” Alastor replied to his unspoken question, “Village of Ladock. The two were squatting in a house under polyjuice, pretending to be a muggle couple.”

Barty attempted to banish the images that immediately came to mind.

“How were they found?” he asked, “Wizard in the village?”

“Not that we know of” Alastor stated, “Their sadism got the better of them – apparently they decided to go after a few of the local kids. The abduction was done poorly, enough to leave obvious signs of magic.”

“Any serious injuries?”

“Savage took a curse to the stomach; I’ve ordered him taken to St. Mungo’s, but he seemed only minutely injured. Two of the children are alive, though traumatised. The couple they were impersonating is fine as well, just hungry.”

“Arrange for obliviators to be sent once damage control and the healers are done.” Crouch paused for a moment, thinking back on what Moody had said. “How many bodies?”

“One. A girl, Mary Smith – already dead by the time we arrived. I have done what I can to…leave her in a more dignified state than the Carrows had.”

Urgh. Sadly, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement could imagine exactly what the Carrows had done. Over his career he’d seen far too many muggles unfortunate enough to run across the worst of Voldemort’s followers, or the man himself. He’d have Alastor write up the exact details for later, when he had a glass of sherry at his side.

“See that the girl is ‘discovered’ by the muggle authorities. Tell the obliviators to leave false information in the survivors.” Bartemius paused and then spoke in a slightly less commanding tone. “Get that ear looked at as well.”

Moody snorted. “I’ve had worse” he cackled; but he declined to argue as he stomped away.

Barty turned to his secretary, a balding ex-auror with the name of Abaris. “Make sure the reports get to me today” he ordered, then marched into his office without waiting for a reply. Once in his office, he did not immediately sit down at his desk but strode over to one wall which was dominated by a board plastered with the pictures of every living Death Eater known to the Ministry. Over half of them had now been crossed off, representing those in custody. He added both Carrows to this list, with only a tiny smile. Others were marked with a blue border, meaning that they while not in custody had turned themselves in – usually claiming the imperius. Lucius Malfoy was the most prominent member of this group. Finally, there was the group still at large. The Lestranges and Greyback were now the only members of Voldemort’s ‘inner-circle’ to be on the board (though Crouch recognised the fact that the werewolf was only an informal member).

“Three to go” he murmured. If fate was just, all of them would be found before the month was out – before the public’s bloodlust and need for vengeance was overcome by weariness. That was another reason why demanding on trials was foolish – who knew what would happen if the public mood turned against them and towards the poor children destined to see their parents thrown in Azkaban.

Alecto Carrow had two children as he recalled. Whoever the father was happened to be unknown, or at least unconfirmed. _Beside rumours…_

Best to have it done quickly. It was time for the Ministry to put this insurgency behind them and to embrace the good press from their victory. That would be important, if his ambitions were to become reality.

\----------------

**MINISTRY OF ALASKA IMPLEMENTS TRAVEL BAN**

**CARROWS CAPTURED IN CORNWALL!**

**I FAKED MY OWN MURDER: FEREBEE GAMBOL SPEAKS OUT!**


	8. A Few Brief Interludes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few short extracts to tide people over. Sorry for taking so long, lockdowns not been the kindest to my head. Next chapter should be out fairly (?) soon, but there's another thing I want to get finished just before that.
> 
> The Third one down probably isn't canon. Probably. :P

**Retirement **

November 1st, 1981

  
With surprising ease for a man of his age, the wizard crept through the undergrowth under the slowly rising sun. In one hand was grasped a quill, in the other a small notebook. His waistcoat and trousers were already filthy, which would surely annoy his wife when he returned from his studies. Thankfully, he would be able to head off her exasperation by at least keeping his coat – thrown on a chair half a mile back – clean.  
  
And it wasn’t as if the rest of his clothes weren’t covered in mud and bits of grass anyway.  
  
Pushing aside a final bunch of field grass, the wizard came to a halt and started frantically sketching. His eyes were fixed on the open field before him, where a curious sight could be seen. Along with a small herd of horses, all Dartmoor Ponies with brown or chestnut coats were a group of small and hairy bipedal creatures, almost marsupial in posture and feature. With their maroon fur (except on their heads, where it was sandier in colouration) the small creatures blended in among the herd, which they walked through freely, tending to the horses as they went. As the wizard watched, an older specimen whose fur had gone the colour of wheat clambered onto the back of one of the animals, where it began combing through the horse’s mane with a roughly hewn brush of its own making.  
  
The wizard focused on this creature, eyes scarcely leaving the sight as he sketched away in his book. On his previous trips, he had only managed to copy the general outline of the horse-minders; this time, he hoped to jot down an example of the creatures’ faces. The problem was that the creatures either feared or mistrusted humans and would therefore flee the moment they sensed his presence. This was why he was flat on his front in a muddy field, though if he was actually planning on interacting with them, he would have approached more obviously for the purpose of building trust.  
  
After a few minutes, the wizard had completed his preliminary sketch. Perhaps this one would be good to include in his latest book, once he had gone over it at home to add colouration and finer details. They had been included in a previous work of his, a more general compendium of the beasts of the world. But this time about, he was working on a book dealing with the British Isles exclusively and so saw the need for a refreshment of his knowledge. Plus, the moment he had settled down in Dorset, he had noticed the tribe of the creatures and resolved to visit them when the opportunity presented itself. With a decisive scribble, he wrote down the name of the creatures – taken from the place where they had first been discovered; Porlocks. Putting the notebook and quill away, he began to crawl forward once more. Building trust with the various beings and beasts of the wizarding world took time and patience. Those were things he had in abundance now however, with his days of travelling the world (mostly) behind him.  
  
Unfortunately, one of the smaller Porlocks who was tending to an older stallions hooves noticed his approach. With a swift bark, he alerted the rest of his tribe which quickly halted their activities and hopped away into the undergrowth. The wizard sighed in disappointment and stood up, brushing off the most obvious bits of mud and grass as he went. A few of the horses looked at him accusingly, to which he shrugged in apology. He knew the Porlocks would not return for at least a day and so after rubbing his boots on some off the drier grass, apparated home.  
  
It was time for breakfast.

\----------------

The three Kneazles had evidently already had their morning scoff when he arrived back. Hoppy, Milly and Mauler sat in a row on the doorstep, looking very content with themselves and life in general. He still gave the three of them scratches on the head in greeting, with the former two granting him an approving purr. He then stepped over them and pushed open the red door of his cottage, the bottom half taken up by a child’s attempted drawing of the Hogwarts Giant Squid. His wife sat at the kitchen table with the morning copy of the Prophet in her lap and a cup of black coffee in her hand. Age had dealt kindly with Tina, though her hair had mostly gone grey this late in life. Newt himself had received roughly the same treatment, though his hair was still as dark red as the day he was born.  
  
“Morning!” he greeted, easing his way into the chair across from Tina and grabbing the pot to pour himself a drink. “Anything interesting in the paper today?”  
  
Tina huffed. “You know you could warn me when you go wandering off, Newt?” she said fondly, “I wasn’t sure if you were going swimming again, I thought I might have needed to fetch out a towel.”  
  
“Only field-work today” Newt replied, “The Malaclaws tend to keep to themselves this late in the year, though the Danish breed are more adventurous.”  
  
“Hmm.” She replied, scanning through the paper; “You might want to heat up that coffee, its been about half an hour since I made it up.”  
  
“I’m sure it will be fine” said Newt, pouring a spot of milk into the drink. After crawling through the mud, the warmth of it was wonderful for his limbs and back. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question?”  
  
Tina started. “Oh yes, I didn’t” she said, “Sorry. Voldemort’s apparently dead.”  
  
Newt blinked. “Huh.”  
  
“Apparently a cat was involved” she remarked, “Which makes him even less impressive compared to Ol’ Grindles.”  
  
“I’ll have to give the terrible threesome another round of scratches then” Newt remarked, “Kneazles and Cats aren’t the same species but-”  
  
“They’re close enough to act offended when the other isn’t given their due” Tina cut in, “I know, we’ve had this talk before after that time in the Congo. I’ve already had to give them extra treats this morning, as you probably guessed when you came in.”  
  
“They did seem even more smug than usual” Newt replied. He raised his mug. “Well then, a toast to the animal and to us having to do less this time around.”  
  
Tina chuckled.

** Somewhere Else **

November 3rd, 1981

Cold.  
  
It – _He_ was cold.  
  
And tired. So tired.  
  
But it had to keep moving.  
  
There was a man it feared. It had to avoid him, while it – _He_ was like this. He wouldn’t be able to fight him, not like this, not broken, not scattered as he was.  
  
But it was cold. The forests in this land seemed to sap away at its strength, even broken and lost as it was. It could do naught but drift and cry for aid, for surely one of its followers would come to find it?  
  
Surely.  
  
The man had a name, it – _HE_ was sure.  
  
Dum-ble-dore.  
  
**DUMBLEDORE!**  
  
This was his doing. He had broken it and thrown it to the winds. To this place, far away from the lands it had known and sort to rule.  
  
But there was something else. A name it had forgotten. Someone else who had broken it.  
  
A man?  
  
A child?  
  
Who was it? There was something in the back of its mind, another name, a set of words that remained unfulfilled.

_Neither can live._

Cold.  
  
It – _He_, was cold.

** Not the Dark Lord **

November 4th, 1981

Lucius Malfoy stroked his moustache, pleased with his own cunning.  
  
He then realised he didn’t have a moustache and wondered what he had been stroking.  
  
In the meantime, Narcissa made herself a pot of tea and Draco wet himself.  
  
And Dobby plotted murder.

**The Order of Merlin **

November 5th, 1981

Milicent Bagnold was brooding behind her desk, her back to a large window overlooking the Ministry atrium. Or at least, apparently doing so – the Ministry of Magic had so much magic worked into the construction that it was anyone’s guess how the building really fit together.  
  
“Do we really have to give an Order of Merlin to _a cat_?” she grumbled, one hand rubbing at her eyes. It had not been a quiet week for her and the Ministry, even if those who worked in the building were still in high spirits.  
  
Her Senior Undersecretary, Aaron Fowley sat across from her, an open copy of the Daily Prophet in his lap. As part of his job, he was supposed to brief her on the morning edition and anything else in the media that was considered relevant. While Milicent considered it worthwhile to skim through the paper herself, she was usually too busy to read the entire rag.  
  
“There is precedent for such a decision” Aaron stated, “In the time of Minister Tuft, the honour was granted to several animals, including a few Leprechauns.”  
  
“Yes. However, Old Ignatius was completely insane” Milicent replied, “You might not remember him – you were born in 1960, correct? – but he was the leader of the party wanting to breed _Dementors_. Quite worrying that he isn’t Britain’s worst Minister of Magic, all things considered.”  
  
“I wasn’t aware the Guards of Azkaban could breed!” remarked the disgusted secretary.  
  
“Nor were most people at the time.” She grabbed another piece of paperwork off the pile, putting the Order of Merlin form to the side for the moment. Peering at it through her glasses, she saw something about the Malfoys. Urgh. “What are the papers saying?”  
  
“The Prophet hasn’t said anything on the matter yet, which is probably a blessing” said Aaron, turning over a page in his own copy; “The Manchester Porlock and the Herald dismissed the idea, naturally. Rumours and The Wizarding World News have voiced support for it, as you would expect from _them_. The Financial Times mentioned it very briefly, while complaining about the existence of the award in general.”  
  
“Typical goblins” Milicent muttered, “What about the Examiner?”  
  
“It wasn’t mentioned. The Lovegoods did however…if you’re interested.”  
  
The Minister scowled. “Let me guess” she drawled, “Something about a conspiracy, probably an insinuation that You-Know-Who remains at large and I’m a liar. Pandora and I never got on at school, for various reasons.” She resisted the urge to spit at something.  
  
The Undersecretary looked amused; “The part about the conspiracy is correct – apparently the cat is actually a baby Nundu, smuggled into Britain by unknown criminals. But you weren’t mentioned.”  
  
“Something to be pleased about, I suppose.” Milicent sighed, “Could we give the cat some other award, perhaps? Something that doesn’t carry the same weight? I mean, most Wizengamot members don’t have an Order of Merlin. _I don’t!_”  
  
“There’s always the Wilhemina Twigge Award?” said Aaron.  
  
The Minister looked thoughtful. “Maybe…I can’t quite remember if she’s still alive or not. I’d rather not receive any howlers from her if she is still with us. She was friends with my aunt, you know. Aside from that…there’d be the Batworthy and Stump Awards, though both would be a little awkward – they’re meant to be awarded for excellent spellcasting.”  
  
“Cats usually can’t do magic” stated the Undersecretary.  
  
“_I realised_” Milicent drawled; “Maybe it’d be easier just giving the blasted animal the Order. I could blame it on the Wizengamot, I suppose, since they have to vote on it.” Once again she sighed, already looking forward to having a long bath at the end of the day. One of her predecessors had installed a large tub in the house at Spring Gardens, which she would be forever grateful of.  
  
With an uncharacteristic flick, she signed her name on the form. Hopefully the other work today would be less dangerous.

**Appendix 6 3/4**

**Brief Notes on Law in the Wizarding World **

  
The organisation of the court in the British Wizarding World is similar to that of the Muggle World, though with noticeable differences, such as the complete absence of dedicated judges. The role of the judge is instead taken by a ‘leading member of the establishment’, who depending on the case can be anyone from the Minister of Magic, to the Chief Warlock, to senior members of the Department of Law Enforcement. Attempts to establish a proper system of judges have failed to pass the Wizengamot on multiple occasions.  
  
Wizards and Witches are able to seek legal advice from solicitors, who are empowered to press claims (such as in matters of copyright) on their employer’s behalf. In the courtroom, the role of the Barrister is taken by an _‘Advocate’_, who depending on the length of their career may gain the additional titles of _‘High Advocate’_, _‘Most High Advocate’_ and ‘_Honourable Advocate’_ (the latter title is bequeathed at the whim of the Minister of Magic). Advocates are commonly known as lawyers or barristers in conversation however, even among the more conservative parts of the population. In matters of defence (but not prosecution, following the Wizengamot passing the derisively called ‘Abraxas’ Law’), the accused is also able to call upon a non-professional to defend themselves, if they deem it more suitable or wise. A person acting in this capacity is known as a _‘Witness for the Defence’_, as they are often involved as witnesses in the case in question themselves. Defendants are _not_ allowed to defend themselves however, following a court case in the early 40s that lasted three months without accounting for time paradoxes.  
  
Until very recently, Adult wizards and witches were expected to perform Jury Duty if requested by the Department of Law Enforcement (naturally, those unable to stand in the jury for health reasons or those with criminal records are not asked). However, in the latter days of Harold Minchum’s tenure this was suspended, following the corruption in the Department becoming obvious when several known Death Eaters walked free due to packed juries. It has yet to be reinstated, though the likelihood is that it will be.  
  
**Probably Accurate, 1981  
  
Note: **For reference, the Jury was actually reinstated (at least in this timeline) following Voldemort’s First Defeat. However, the Minister with the support of a majority of the Wizengamot is allowed to suspend this, in trials of ‘national interest’. This is what happened with Harry in Ootp, due to Fudge abusing his powers.


	9. The Man with the Golden Hearse (James Potter I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, teacher training happened.

**November 7th, 1981**

  
For the third time in two weeks, the Auror Department’s coffee machine had broken. Despite being regarded by the press as a hero, James Potter had not been spared from the duty of fixing it. The other Aurors who might have been able to do the job had mysteriously vanished to parts unknown before Crouch and Moody noticed the failure. While it would not do to speculate, James suspected a swift trip to the Leaky Cauldron would locate most of them – but doing so would have been more effort than it was worth. Still, Sirius would be getting an earful when he next spotted him. _Goddamn traitor!_  
  
Strangely for this time of day – or maybe not, he hadn’t been in for two weeks so who knows what might have changed – the Department was mostly empty of people. Crouch and Moody were off in their offices and only a few others were lurking around in the maze of brown cubicles. The occasional memo swooped overhead, as did the even more occasional owl.  
  
Without much gentleness he poked his wand up into the innards of the machine; a necessary arrangement since the only way he could access the innards was by awkwardly squatting on the floor. The machine was a bit too close to Muggle technology for him to be truly confident; ironically Sirius had always been the best at tampering with tools and gizmos taken from the ‘other side’ of Britain, despite coming from the Blacks. Despite having more muggle blood than either of them through his mother, Remus was probably the worst when it came to dealing with technology. His had always been the domain of the _‘human-tees’_ – apparently an odd muggle word for history and geography.  
  
He leaned further into the machine. The maintenance department had said the problem was probably one of the pipes being out of sorts, but he just could not see it. Having to squat was becoming increasingly painful, a situation that was probably not helped by his lack of activity over the last week – the most strenuous thing he’d done since You-Know-Who’s attack was resist the urge to murder the bastards at the Prophet. James could only hope yesterday’s interview would be the only one.  
  
According to the rusty plaque affixed to the wall beside the machine, it had been presented to the Auror Office in 1968 by the then Minister of Magic Eugenia Jenkins, as part of ‘A General Modernisation of this Ministry and its Buildings’. James remembered the woman with some fondness. His mother had been a close friend and one of her few loyal supporters during the latter years of her career as You-Know-Who began his assault on Wizarding Britain. Naturally, she and his father had brought him along to several of the Dinners and Balls hosted by parts of the government or other influential parties such as the Malfoys. He (and he suspected, his father) had found them to be boring and stuffy occasions, except for the parts in which someone was discovered having an affair, or when Gareth Greengrass ran into a wall for the fifteenth time, or that time when one of the Black Sisters tripped over and headbutted Travers in the groin…  
  
Thinking about it, they weren’t actually that bad. At least the food was good.  
  
_Though there was a thought… _With Regulus and their father passed on, who was the heir to what remained of the Black Fortunes? Sirius had been thrown out of the family – not that he minded being free of the narbos, mind you – as had Andromeda, while Bellatrix was certain to spend the rest of her days in Azkaban once the Ministry found her. Maybe the Malfoys were in line to get the house and everything else? It really depended on whether Sirius’ mother was still sane enough to worry about things like wills and inheritance, since the last James had heard of her painted an unflattering picture of her sanity.  
  
If he squinted, James could just about see something that looked like a pipe. He prodded his wand as close as he could reach – he could have sworn the machine shouldn’t have been this big on the inside – and stated as firmly as he could “Reparo!”.  
  
There was a loud scraping sound and James quickly withdrew his head from the innards of the machine.  
  
When the coffee maker failed to explode, he gave it an experimental kick; hoping that the machine wasn’t going to start following the example of the nastier objects from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. Screaming for Perkins and Weasley to help him would severely damage his ‘street cred’, as Sirius put it. Thankfully, the machine did not start trying to eat him and so he felt confident enough to reattach the cover he had removed. In all likelihood it would break again sooner or later, but that would be someone else’s problem – he’d make sure to be off visiting Hogsmeade on that day.  
  
Retrieving his mug – a hideous pink one Lily had received from Petunia two Christmases ago, hated beyond measure and then passed on to him – he placed it under the spout, checked there was enough water and prodded at the button that usually made it start. A small amount of green smoke billowed up from behind the machine, but it obediently began pouring something that resembled coffee into the mug. James leaned against the machine while he waited, scratching briefly at the scar on his leg that refused to heal.  
  
A cough was the only warning of his boss’s approach. As always, Bartemius Crouch looked the height of dignity with his neatly pressed grey robes and shortly trimmed beard. This made the shadows under his eyes stand out even further and the set of his jaw would have frozen Africa.  
  
“Potter” he greeted, “I have a visitor who has asked to discuss _certain matters _with you.”  
  
James frowned. He couldn’t imagine many visitors who would require the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement to retrieve members of his staff personally rather than sending a secretary. Even Bagnold herself wouldn’t have changed that.  
  
“Do I know them, sir?” he questioned, retrieving the now filled mug.  
  
“You should” Crouch grunted, “Lucius Malfoy. As of yet a free man, despite the efforts of this department.” He swept around and began the walk back to his office, not bothering to gesture to James that he was expected to follow.  
  
James stared, even as his feet fell in behind his superior. “Why would Malfoy want to talk to me?” His mind flashed to the prospect of the man trying to assassinate him, though that was swiftly rejected. Abraxas’ son had never struck him as a man inclined to risking his own neck when someone else’s would serve.  
  
“Can you not imagine?” Crouch remarked, “Your demands for the use of veritaserum in all trials have not gone unnoticed by those on the receiving end of the courts. No men wish to go spilling all their secrets, least of all traitors fearing the halls of Azkaban.”  
  
“Does he mean to bribe me?” James asked, “Not that I’d ever consider accepting one, obviously.”  
  
“I cannot be certain” his boss replied, his scowl deepening for whatever reason as they approached the door to his office; “I expect he will consider the prospect, if he does you are to draw out the possibility as long as possible – encourage him to let slip anything that will allow this department to prove his guilt.” He turned squarely to face James. “That is the only reason I have allowed this meeting. I do not know if you understand this – I assume the answer is _no_, considering the predicament this Ministry has been placed in – but even if that assumption is inaccurate I shall inform you again; veritaserum is _not_ infallible. By demanding for it and thereby making the public and therefore, _the Minister_ demand for it, you have risked the outcome of _all_ the trials I must now perform. While I will ensure that any accused are checked for the antidote prior to their trial, that will not assist against those with experience in occlumency.”  
  
James flinched. Crouch was correct, he had not considered that. Neither had Lily or the others. Still… “Veritaserum was not the only thing I was demanding for in the Prophet. I was also calling for all their property to be searched and for-”  
  
“I know exactly what you were calling for” Crouch interrupted, “I also know what parts were absorbed by the public and sadly ‘searches’ and ‘seizures’ do not carry the same attraction as ‘truth potion’.” He sighed. “Remember, most of the population does not properly read the newspapers. They _skim_ through them, looking for words that carry weight to them. If you do insist on carrying on with this ‘campaign’, along with Dumbledore – do not deny it – then make sure to be careful what you say.”  
  
James glared. “Its hardly a campaign, I just want those who tried to kill my son in Azkaban!”  
  
“What you want and what you may achieve are different things” Crouch stated, “And do not raise your voice with me, I am still your superior. And you are not the only man here who has been targeted by the Dark Lord.” He grasped at the door handle but waited for a moment before opening it. “Remember, let him speak. Let him reveal his secrets. Find something we can use.” With that said, he opened the door and shoved James inside.  
  
James was immediately on guard, even as he spared a glance around the room to gain his bearings. For better or for worse, he had never been in Crouch’s Office before. It was a dark, spartan room, with a few documents hung on the walls and a faded photograph of a woman and child on the hardwood desk. By contrast, the small lamp on the desk was almost too bright and harsh. Leaning against a wall across from the doorway was a tall man with long pale hair. At James’ entrance, he turned from where he was studying one of the frames and attempted a smile.  
  
“Ah, Mr Potter” he began, “It is good to finally make your acquittance, after such a long time.”  
  
“Mr Malfoy” James replied, not bothering to disguise his glare and keeping his wand within a moment’s reach. If it came to a fight, he reckoned he could take the man – according to his file, Lucius Malfoy preferred to keep his wand within a long cane, which would surely make it more difficult to draw in a hurry. “You wished to speak to me.” His tone was blunt, which was extraordinarily polite considering the circumstances.  
  
“Yes” Malfoy confirmed, “Do thank your superior for allowing my small request.” He steepled his fingers and sat down in the chair across from James. “Won’t you sit? I believe we have a great deal to discuss.”  
  
“I couldn’t think of anything in particular” James said, remaining next to the door; “That is unless you wish to offer a plea deal, in an attempt to diminish your future sentence.”  
  
The known Death Eater smirked. “Forestalling an_ unjust_ visit to Azkaban would be a wonderful topic for conversation. But before we turn to business, how is your family doing? It seems years since I’ve seen your wife and I do not believe I’ve had-”  
  
If James had the eyes of a Basilisk, Malfoy would have keeled over in his chair. As was the case, he did not and so merely contented himself with imagining the sight. “Lily is fine, better since your Master’s demise. As is our son.”  
  
“How wonderful to hear. We should introduce young Harry to my own son, Draco” Malfoy intoned, his gaze fixed. “Narcissa is always asking for me to find other boys his age for Draco to interact with. I’ve read that spending too much time…isolated is bad for a child’s development.”  
  
“I’d imagine that your son has enough friends” James said, “Is it true that the Bulstrode girl and the Crabbe boy are boarding at your house while their parents go before the courts?”  
  
The man put on an air of solemness and leaned forward in his chair. “Sadly, that is the case” he said, tapping his hands as if the very idea gave him pains; “Such a shame to see families separated, to see children grow up without their parents. For the world to allow such a thing is…unbearable.”  
  
_The hypocrisy of the statement was unbearable._  
  
Still, the Malfoy continued laying out his ‘troubles’. “While I cannot board the children forever, as my dwelling is far from an ideal place to host the very young; it has fallen to me to care for them in this time of hardship.” The way he said ‘dwelling’ seemed designed to ignore the fact that Malfoy Manor occupied more land than Diagon Alley, the major shopping district in Wizarding Britain. “I’m sure you can understand, being a father yourself?”  
  
A thought came to James’ mind. While it was rare due to the difficulty of managing it, the Wizarding Courts allowed for the submission of memories to the court record. If he could catch Malfoy out- “Is Narcissa okay with this?” he began, finally moving away from the door to seat himself.  
  
The Death Eater smiled. “My wife is a kind woman, who adores children-” That didn’t sound like the whiny prefect James remembered. “She would never object to having the children of our greatest- well, who we assumed to be our greatest friends around at our house.”  
  
“Any other children going to be joining you there?” James questioned, “Perhaps the Carrow Twins?”  
  
Malfoy shook his head. “Even…before I knew of their true natures, I was never fond of the Carrows. We have all heard the rumours…”  
  
James hummed. “Your wife had to share a dorm with Alecto Carrow, I believe? Has she said anything about her arrest? Any grief at the announcement?”  
  
The man frowned slightly and peered at James. “Narcissa was horrified by the account of their capture, of course.”  
  
James suspected that _at least_ was the truth. It took a special kind of person to support the horrors committed by the siblings. Still, pressing on and attempting to keep his voice as relaxed as possible in the company of a man suspected to one of Voldemort’s favourites; “I assume Narcissa wasn’t part of You-Know-Who’s inner circle, since she clearly doesn’t have the Dark Mark?”  
  
Malfoy went to answer – but paused, the corners of his mouth twitching. Carefully, with noticeable thought behind each and every word, he replied; “I have never seen any evidence that my wife was part of such an organisation, though I could not confirm who was in the Dark Lord’s inner circle – even under the imperius, I was not witness to such events.”  
  
Drat.  
  
James had been hoping he would admit to having been present in those inner circle meetings, which even with the excuse of the imperius protecting Malfoy himself, would have at least gotten him the names of the others present. The Death Eater certainly realised this, judging by his glinting eyes.  
  
Another tactic then. “You’ve already offered up the names of many ‘lesser’ Death Eaters. The Rowles, the Snydes, Malcam Lee. Do you have any others you can recall at this moment?”  
  
Malfoy feigned regret: “I am afraid not Auror Potter. As you and the Ministry know, the Dark Lord refused to allow those who were imperiused access to his most valuable information. The risk of us spilling that information once free of his control was far too high to countenance.”  
  
James sighed. “What can you offer this department, then?” he spat, “You’ve obviously come bearing some Golden Goose – let’s not waste time with this any longer.”  
  
The man across from him chuckled and leaned back in Crouch’s chair, looking as proud as one of the ridiculous peacocks he apparently owned. “Your friend, Mr Lupin. I assume he is aware of…a certain law certain factions of the Wizengamot are attempting to pass?”  
  
James resisted the urge to frown. He was not aware of any new law affecting…people such as his friend, so if Remus did know of one he hadn’t mentioned it.  
  
“It may not have made the papers yet, I suppose” Malfoy continued, “Perhaps it has not even been introduced into the courts yet-”  
  
“Get to the point” James growled, “I assume you are offering the chance for it to fail? Your family has enough influencers, even now to pull off something like that.”  
  
The Death Eater smiled. It faded however, when James continued speaking.  
  
“Remus wouldn’t want me to agree to such a thing, even if the law called for the removal of his…family, shall we say? Do you have anything better?”  
  
The man across from him seemed to think for a few moments, though he might simply have been a good actor. “I can see you desire vengeance against those who threatened your family. Perhaps a target closer to ‘_home_’ for you?”  
  
Without even thinking about it, James clenched his hands into fists.  
  
_Peter._  
  
To see him before the courts, after what he had done, after what he had _nearly seen done_ – that would be a pleasure like no other. Sirius would have jumped at the chance, as an opportunity to atone for what he saw as his sin – not that James or Lily blamed him for what had happened. Who could have known their closest friend was a Death Eater?!  
  
_But…_  
  
James gazed across the desk in thought. He hated Peter more than anyone at the moment, bar Voldemort himself. But he had known him growing up, even if he had missed the man falling into lockstep behind He Who Must Not Be Named. On his own, without first the Marauders and secondly the Death Eaters to provide backup; was he really a threat? His former friend had always been the weakest of them – though even now it shamed him to admit that. Was it worth capturing him, if someone infinitely more dangerous such as Lucius Malfoy stayed out of Azkaban?  
  
And what was he demanding in return for this anyway?  
  
“I cannot accept that” James replied, “Have you anything else?”  
  
The Malfoy failed to hide a scowl. “I suppose I might be able to-”  
  
A thought occurred to James. A memory, from seven nights ago. He, Professor Dumbledore and Alice Longbottom had been sat on chairs in the latter’s home, discussing the events of the night prior…  
  
“Alice” Dumbledore had said, “While I certainly agree with you that it is impossible to resurrect the dead, that is not what I or James propose; unless I am mistaken, which I would hope isn’t the case as I have already been wrong twice today. A third time would be most worrying indeed.” He had chuckled, but then turned grave. “_I call into question whether or not Voldemort died at all. _There are methods by which one can extend or sustain life beyond that which is natural. The Philosopher’s Stone is one method, as is unicorn blood. Likewise, there is dark magic that allows for the survival of a person without a body; though such methods are little-known, highly difficult and extremely dangerous. _The question is, therefore, which one did Voldemort use?”_  
  
Malfoy hadn’t hinted at any secret knowledge of Voldemort’s actions, any knowledge of rituals he had performed to protect his soul and body from destruction. But...at least according to what they suspected, he had been one of the Dark Lord’s favourites. If anyone – who James had access to – had any idea what the man might have done, it would be him.  
  
_It was worth a shot at least!_  
  
He interrupted Malfoy, who was prattering on about France for some reason. “Did you see You-Know-Who ever perform any strange rituals? Any spells you weren’t allowed to know the purpose of? Anything particularly difficult, even for the most powerful wizard to perform?”  
  
Malfoy paused, though he managed to look offended at being interrupted. “The Dark Lord performed a number of spells I never knew the purpose of, but-”  
  
“Anything exceptional even among them?”  
  
Malfoy frowned again; “Not in particular. Not that I would have been able to see his greatest – and most terrible work, being imperiused as I was.”  
  
James snorted. The man was persistent with lying, he would give him that. Perhaps he really did know nothing, maybe that hair was hiding a hole where a brain would normally be! Hoping for the answer to Voldemort’s undetermined fate to fall out of the sky had been a fumble in the dark anyway. He hadn’t really expected anything to come of it.  
  
He half rose out of his chair, prepared to bid the Death Eater so long – _for now!_ –  
  
…and had another thought.  
  
“Did he ever have any _artifacts_ that meant something more to him?”  
  
Malfoy really did pause then, even closing his eyes for a moment without realising. James returned to his chair, a lump in his throat forcing its way upwards. The dim light of the office cast the face of the man across from him into shadow, along with the dark walls of Crouch's office. From outside came the distant sound of voices, their words and owners indistinct.  
  
“There…might have been one small thing” Malfoy replied, very hesitantly. “A book.”  
  
The scar on James’ cheek throbbed angrily.  
  
“A book?” he said, “What kind of book?”  
  
“I do not know” the Death Eater replied, slowly; “I haven’t looked at it closely. Why would I?” The shake in his voice made it clear he had looked at whatever this book was, very closely indeed.  
  
_It could be nothing._  
  
The existence of an artifact in Malfoy’s hands was unlikely. The existence of an_ important_ artifact in Malfoy’s hands was even more so, for who had Voldemort really trusted? The scraps known about the man – as well as James’ own experiences – painted him as a paranoid madman, with a great deal of respect for himself and none for his fellow men.  
  
_It could be nothing._  
  
Even considering the prospect of giving in, accepting what was no less than a bribe rankled at James. Was this not exactly what Barty and him had discussed? He should never have considered the prospect of dealing with this...man.  
  
_It could be nothing._  
  
But what if it wasn’t? What if Harry’s safety, Lily’s safety relied on the discovery of that artifact? _Was the risk of it being nothing one he could take?_  
  
…  
  
He could not and would not.  
  
“That book” James said, his voice firm as much for his own benefit as it was for Malfoys; “Hand over that book to me and I will halt my efforts to have you and your _friends _thrown in Azkaban.” Another thought, he’d been having a lot of those today. “I also want Pettigrew. I also want that law and any other like it to die in the Wizengamot. Fail to do _any of that_ and I will turn this memory over myself and have us both brought under the hammer for treachery.”  
  
Malfoy hesistated for a moment longer.  
  
“It is a deal."

\----------------

**"TO AZKABAN WITH THE LOT OF THEM!" SAYS THE-MAN-WHO-WON**

**LUCIUS MALFOY: A SECRET VEELA?**

**Ist der Einsatz von Denkariums vor Gericht eine grobe Verletzung der Rechte des Angeklagten?**


	10. Three Men in a Shed (Remus Lupin I)

**November 7th, 1981**

“Merlin’s Pants! What were you thinking?”

James groaned at Sirius’ exclamation, almost sinking into his armchair. Lily on the other hand let out a snigger, which she regretted when her glass of wine went down the wrong pipe. Remus alone managed to hold back a dramatic reaction, though he grinned at the now pouting Sirius. The four of them were sat around in a little cabin tucked away at the end of the Longbottom’s garden, usually used for storing brooms and gardening equipment. Aside from a large dent in the hardwood table and the part of the ceiling that leaked, it was a cosy little place.

This was just as well since James and Lily were staying in the cabin while figuring out where in the country to move. Neither of them were willing to stay at Godric’s Hollow after Voldemort’s attack on the property, since the likelihood of Peter having only told You-Know-Who the location was _way _too damn low. Besides which, they’d had to remove the Fidelius Charm to allow the aurors and reporters access.

Sirius continued to pout in his corner, tucked away with a mug of coffee. James had wrestled the last pint of beer away from him, barking that he’d already had enough to drink today.

“Seriously, James!” he cried, “Its Lucius Malfoy! I’ll grant that letting him go isn’t as bad as letting Bella or Greyback run free, but he’s still a murderer twenty times over! One of You-Know-Who’s favourites!”

“I feel like I’ve already had this conversation” James muttered, looking to Lily for support. The still spluttering redhead gave him none whatsoever.

“You have” Remus replied, leaning back in his own armchair; “And I’d like to remind you that I did – eventually – agree with you.” He could not conceal his smirk this time.

“Eventually!” James spat back, “It took a bloody hour!”

In fairness to James, Remus had relentlessly grilled him on his meeting with Lucius Malfoy, forcing his friend to recount details he hadn’t even picked up on. Initially, he had been horrified at the prospect of a high-ranking member of the Death Eaters walking free, had James forgotten just who they were? Leaving a single member outside of Azkaban was bartering with the lives of hundreds of wizards and thousands of muggles!

However, once he’d heard all the details about the deal James had made, he had relented and agreed that it was a necessary sacrifice. Unlike the other members of their group, he’d never been _quite_ as happy to leave things to chance, but the possibility of that book being important was definitely too much to pass over. If it gave any hints to how Voldemort might still be alive, then any cost was acceptable. And Remus said this as a man who’s life had been scarred more by Voldemort than any of the others, through the Dark Lord association with one particular werewolf.

Even now, after fifteen years he could still picture Greyback clearly; a hulking mass of black fur with pale eyes and yellow teeth.

Sirius was still getting over his own shock.

“This deal, what is it?” he said, a shaking hand pointing at James.

“We’ve told you at least twice since you arrived!” Lily replied, “The book about Voldemort. Wormtail handed over the Aurors. That stupid law about Remus dying a horrible death!”

“I was hoping there was more to it!” barked Sirius, running both hands back and forth through his hair; “You realise who Malfoy is, don’t you?”

“Unsurprisingly _yes_, Sirius” James barked back, having finally gotten over his exasperation; “Since I’m the only one of us who’s been in the same room as him in the last five years!”

“I’ve been on the battlefield with him” Sirius glared, “Or, rather, _against_ him. And don’t pretend, James, that one short conversation means you know him better than I do. I had to put up with him growing up, always coming over to chat up father, or Dromeda, or Narcissa when they started getting it on-”

“You have told us this, Sirius” Remus interrupted, gently; “And I’m sure James took that into account when talking to the man. But what we’re trying to deal with here is far bigger than Malfoy could ever be.”

Sirius turned his glare on him. “Couldn’t we just break into his house and steal the book if its that important?!”

“At the time I didn’t consider that…” James admitted, “But even I had done, it wouldn’t have changed my mind. We would never be able to pull it off.”

Lily hummed in agreement, placing a reassuring hand on James’ arm. “We might know where Malfoy Manor is, but that doesn’t really help us. We’d need to know what they have protecting the grounds, what they have protecting the house-”

James cut in, leaning slightly into his wife; “Bear in mind that the Malfoy’s have had that land in Wiltshire for…what, ten centuries? – so they’ve had plenty of time to dig themselves in.”

The combined intentness of their stares resulted in a sigh from Sirius.

“I suppose that getting the Ministry to perform a raid wouldn’t work either?” he said, not really wanting an answer; “Not only can we not tell them about what we suspect about Voldemort-”

“If we tell them, we’re also telling the remaining Death Eaters” James stated.

“Yes, I know” said Sirius, “So even we did get manage to arrange a raid on Malfoy’s property, they’d have no idea what to look for.” He sighed again. “I swear, it didn’t use to be this complicated.”

James grunted in response.

“Do you agree that James was right, Sirius?” Remus asked, speaking up again.

The man didn’t respond.

“Sirius?” Remus tried again.

“Reluctantly...” Sirius replied while staring at his coffee, probably wishing it were something stronger. He looked at Remus, then questioned “You’re okay with the whole thing about the law, aren’t you?”

Remus’ face tightened, as he thought of an answer. It was a more difficult subject than the others might have appreciated, having never been as endangered by prejudice as the werewolf was, except for Lily. “I’m touched that James included the law in his demands against Malfoy.” He nodded at James, who nodded back. Remus had already accepted his repeated apologies for not instantly accepting Malfoy’s offer to block the law targeted against his kind – he agreed that it would not have been worth it, though for reasons different to those James might have expected. “I’m glad he didn’t make that his only condition for letting the man go free, however; I wouldn’t want to be responsible for any of you having to make a decision like that. And he could have gone back on his word the moment his own freedom was assured, anyway.”

Looking around at his remaining friends, Remus continued; “But I do not expect Malfoy’s agreement to stop this law to come to anything, even if he puts all his efforts towards doing so. Even if all his cronies refuse to vote on it, the Ministry has enough people who hate my kind to get it passed – especially after this war, and especially with Greyback still running around Connacht.”

“We could speak up on your behalf?” Lily suggested, “James and I could get a lot of people on side and Sirius…well…”

“Even a banished member of the House of Black would get a lot of respect from certain people” Sirius muttered, as bitterly as he could; “Its what happens when you grow up among these people, you learn how they think.”

“It still wouldn’t work” Remus replied, “And you’d have to reveal that I’m a werewolf anyway. Don’t worry about it, I’ll manage.”

“You shouldn’t have to” James said.

“It’s my burden” Remus stated, “Not yours. Not anyone else’s.” Not even his father’s, though Lyall Lupin had always blamed himself for his son’s infection. “The only thing we can do is get Greyback thrown behind bars. So long as he’s free, there’s no chance for my kind being spared anything save the axe.”

None of his friends looked happy at that comment. Still, sensing the dark mood that had settled on the group, Lily stood up.

“I’ll go get us another round of coffee – not beer, James – since everyone’s mugs are empty. Start telling them about what Dumbledore said while I’m away.” She grasped James’ shoulder briefly, then drew her wand to levitate the drinkware back to the house. “I’ll check on Harry while I’m there.”

“He should still be sleeping” James said, smiling after her.

“What’s this about the Professor?” Remus asked, curiously. He didn’t know that James had been to see the man today.

“Before telling you and Sirius, Lily and I went to see him” replied James, “We spoke about the book and what it might be, as well as a few other things he’s been looking at; other ways to ‘prevent’ death.” He added air quotes to the latter statement, making it clear just how stupid he thought the idea was. “We also spoke to Alice and Frank briefly, since they deserve to know if we’re boarding here and…maybe they might know something?”

“I assume you had no luck?” Sirius questioned, looking very much as if he already knew the answer.

James nodded. “We managed to reject a few possibilities and might be able to reject a few more if this book, whatever it is, is important…but yeah, we couldn’t be sure of anything. Dumbledore thinks that Voldemort probably used some kind of potion to ‘anchor’ himself to the world, as according to him potions was You-Know-Who’s favourite subject when he was at Hogwarts.”

Remus blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know he went to Hogwarts” he said, “I always thought he was foreign to be honest, the name sounds vaguely Italian-ish – ‘mort’ translates to death if I remember correctly. But if he was at Hogwarts then he couldn’t have been, otherwise he’d have gone to Casamanso.”

“Casa-_what_?” James asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The Italian school of magic” Sirius replied in place of Remus, “Somewhere near the ‘boot’, I think.” James and Remus looked at him in surprise. “I was raised in High Society remember, you pick up these things – Emilia Zabini went there for four years, remember her?” He waggles his eyebrows at James, who waggled them back.

Unlike Sirius and possibly James, Remus didn’t remember the woman, though he got the point of their interaction regardless.

“But” Sirius coughed, “Voldemort isn’t bastardised Italian – its French! Literally _‘Flight of Death’_ which is appropriate for a mass murder I suppose.”

“Charming” James muttered, scratching at the nape of his neck.

“Back on topic” Remus said, “Did Dumbledore have idea what kind of potion Voldemort might have used? My first thought was the Elixir of Life, though the Flamels are still alive so I doubt he got hold of that.”

James nodded. “We rejected that possibility. There are a few other ones we couldn’t reject and so are looking into at the moment; Chinese alchemy and variations thereof, several regeneration potions, unicorn blood – that’s actually the one I’m checking on next weekend, I’ll spend it going around the various sanctuaries here and in France and the Low Countries to see if they’ve been taking casualties.”

“I, in the meantime am paying a trip over to Ireland” Lily said, returning with four mugs of steaming coffee; “There’s a lake there that supplies a large amount of Wizarding Britain’s more specialised potion ingredients, including several we think might be relevant.”

“How’s Harry?” James asked.

“Still sleeping” Lily replied, “Alice moved him and Neville to the same crib.”

“This lake; Lough Erne I assume?” Remus stated, to which Lily replied with a nod; “I’ve been there before, I could go with you if you’d like?” It had been nearly fourteen years ago, when his father had been desperately searching for a cure to the lycanthropy his son now suffered. Obviously, he’d failed – though Remus would never have considered blaming him, even if his poor dad continued to blame himself. He made that clear every time he visited, though those had been far between recently with the Order taking up most of his spare time.

Lily shrugged. “Its up to you. We’d be going by portkey, which I’ll arrange tomorrow – the office at the Ministry closes at 4 so I couldn’t make it today. Would that be okay?”

“That’ll be fine, I’ll manage.” Remus replied, “Just need to remember to pack something so I can relieve my chest at the other end.” Saying it like that made it sound like travelling by portkey was a more serious matter for him than it actually was. He just needed to pace himself, he was hardly a…what did the muggles call it? Ass-math-tic?

His thoughts were interrupted by Sirius leaping to his feet, having poured coffee into his lap. He hopped around the room, spewing a hail of curses – his friends, ever sympathetic, failed to smother their laughter.

James pulled out his wand and tried to get the man to stand still; “Let me Sirius – stop it – stop moving – Come on!” Remus stood up and managed to grab hold of the Black long enough for the Potter to cast a cooling charm on the other man’s pants. Lily was still cackling.

“It wasn’t funny!” Sirius fumed, his pout resembling the dog he occasionally turned into.

“Let’s agree to disagree” she said, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Remus had a thought, while returning to his armchair. “How’s house-hunting going for you two?” he asked, gesturing at James and Lily.

James grinned. “We’ve narrowed it down to either the house in Falmouth or the one in Tinworth. I like the property in Tinworth, but-”

“I want an attic to work in” Lily interrupted; “And the property in Falmouth has a perfect one, with a lovely view over-.”

“But it doesn’t have a field attached” James interrupted, “So where would I be able to teach Harry to play Quidditch!”

“That doesn’t really matter, James” Lily groaned.

The three men immediately turned away in denial of that statement.

\----------------

**Minister Bagnold confirms Press Conference on the Twelfth, promises Ministry Shakeup!**

**Scheletro di Lucia di Siracusa rubato dai Babbani! Il Presidente si impegna a recuperarlo!**

**Vierzigste Jahrestag der Versenkung Armenien: Deutsche und Russische Minister führen gemeinsame Zeremonie!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From my notes for context:
> 
> Casamanso is the magical school for Italy and parts of the Balkans. It was founded in 1004AD by the relatively short lived Republic of Amalfi and used to be a contender for the most influential European School due to specialising in exploration, but has fallen from influence over the centuries as the corners of the world were progressively reached. It has been located within the Grotta dello Smeraldo since 1138, after Amalfi was conquered by Pisa.


End file.
